Tuesday, April 12, 2016


A little industrial rain. The sheen of this, the sheen of that. Expiring daylight ought to correspond with a reduction in clarity. The animal energy—imagine that!—reserves itself for evening.

To say “evening” as if the darkness settles scores. Don’t deny yourself mythology on account of city planners and their poverty of ideas. Don’t deny yourself mythology.

If there is disassembly then there might be calibration. If there is no calibration then our streets will be mobbed with clock parts: hands, numerals, gears, mechanisms, bejeweled recollections.

A resale shop that specializes in clock parts: call it Secondhand Second Hand. A used clock becomes your favorite timepiece. Secondhand time becomes your favorite kind of time.

Who would not condemn these vicissitudes if vicissitudes meant the coordinates of poor behavior? Ineffable, as in “Can’t be F’ed up.” How about ineffable?

Neutrality tends to speed downhill, whatever the slope. The chilly clouds draped like Spanish moss among the appalling textures of trees, the allocation of dehydrated trees.

Or the cloud patterns resemble the tectonic impatience of momentary continents. The rain cycles through periods of building and periods of idling. Thus the rain forever.

Shuffle your feet if you desire panorama. Every panorama differs, every shuffle varies. Desk lamps burning in dark offices, an entire corridor brightened in this dark way.

Boot sock boot sock, shoe sock shoe sock, slipper sock slipper sock, boot sock boot sock. Out of doors, nobody knows this little grief you bear. Nobody knows you.