along4daride's blog: "jus writing...."

panning to the left and promanading to the right, taking it all in through his nostrils and trying not to fight, the words that he refuses to let spill on the beaten tracks of men. he glares through shaded glasses directly to the face of the sun, and feels, with all remorse, that he has only half finnished a race, weathered and torn out is his half beaten face, no signs of tornment and no relief from grace. the bronze boy sits on a bench beside his sister reading a book outside the library where everything is still, while a man writes the ending to a story never started, smoking a cigarette and drawing blanks from the concrete, in a litirary context that runs down the ear of a well soiled carcase, and i, and my words, just die .

under the corse skreetching of metal track and steel you hear the muddle of an old man's voice bellow and speal. he stands with a jolt on the south bound "L." wide eyed for a moment as he recalls an old tale. then passing forward to the cubbie benieth a seat withdrawling the bottle he'd tucked away so neat. "last stop." scquealches a muffled voice from the corner and in an everlasting moment two doors open with a shudder. > running with "low light" from here on out pealing from your seat with hesitation no doubt back alleys and black side streets, dimly lit posts and make-shift houses with no heat. < ..slouch down in a corner and pray no "passer byes" as you drift off from exaustion with no tears left to die.

scratch that, let me start smaller, how about "An exercize in writing something more sincere" i sit and i smoke i smoke and i write a stuffed toy dog hangs, by his head, most of his feet missing and his neck strung out like a slinky on a "chicken wire" fence in what they use to call the Atrium a neighbor across the street is screaming "Oh My God, OH MY gOD!" half dressed in his living room pacing. a black cat friend of mine peers over my shoulder apparently the only one interested in anything i ever write what i usually perceive as quite miserable surroundings in the heat of the noon day sun, seems quiet and peaceful this evening a breeze rattles leaves in the trees as a cool gust sweeps over me. i like to spend hours on the roof on nights like tonight not much light for writing, but comfortable peace and silence with exception of some neighbors. like the sort of silence where visions ideas and dreams transpire with a big open sky and moon and stars ive fallen into a slump with my chosen profession may not gain more ground 'till next school year either but theres next summer and Europe i'll be glad to do some traveling if i can nurse my spirit 'till then. All is not lost, just at an unscheduled stop with no train leaving soon, i'll have to make good with what i've got directionless, wandering lost and blind, its eating me up i wanna think that better days WILL eventually turn up. but what if it comes, if ever a day does, when "luck" runs out and im fucked for good? the clouds now cover the moon and all the sky is a gray-blue few stars show their faces as a storm may brew light flashes in the distant sky and i'm headed inside to stay dry and wait for another day to pass bye