21 April 2008


Like a sheet of photo paper is exposed and fixed...my memory is just that...with an image of a gray haired gentleman with a blood trickling, bullet hole wound in the back of his head. He was still standing. They two men beside him were in slow motion with him. Swaying to the short waves of being. It is certainly not the same experience as hearing gun shots while riding a bicycle in the city.

I move farther south Saturday. I will be couch hopping and resting in a kind fellow's bed.

I wove my first basket ever today. It was quite a sight. I want to give it skin.

My outfit today was something out of a jcrew catalog.

I have a ton of work that is creeping and trying to make me paranoid that it is going to kick my ass. I think the best approach is to stay calm and work through. This time is no more or less stressful than any other time of the year. It is in your heads. All I want to do is sip wine and read a book (not out of obligation for a course assignment). First sleep. Insomnia. Summed up to an inability to just listen.

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