Of many things that can be said about boxes, ice, glances and the absurdity that calls itself a

30 December 2006

Caridad,

Though charity is involved, we find a difficulty in giving. We fish for words to reflect desperately: a shifting gaze pondering the impossibility of "stance". Let us fight the words until the inner tissues remind us that blood is made of iron. Let us rob the streets of any smile and courtesy. Let the faint desires of hours wasted come alive with the regret of not having lived. I've never stolen a kiss. We do not want in what is given: it cannot satisfy us. Nothing shall be given, only taken and this day is meant to be.



Kicking: I'd rather curse at you than offer a flower, I rather you drown in weeping than think this "ordinary". I shall make it mine when you're not looking.



The door opens and the monologue resumes.



You have carried every inch of me down the stairs. Onto snow we pile up with dictionaries flailing discussing what of Kierkegaard or intimidation by knowledge and arrive at architects or Mason. Even freezers cannot keep this concealed for thirty years. Death is no motivation, only "stance".



A day like most days.



Tina sits with her back toward the morning birds, in the very earliest of grays she thinks and wishes not to. Shadows seem too compromising a subject for observation, aesthetically and so she goes on. Trains! Voyage, wheels, iron, songs, whiskey by the window. A plaid man in his fifties alights an incoherence- the melting with the wave of warm substance now rising in him. Ramble. Nothing is read here, no scriptures, there is more said about what isn't the case. Except for a moment, hallucinated maybe, in which she stares. He looks. An icicle tests its gravitation potential, drips away its life in the sheet of light. "I miss m' Momma's Momma…"



Completion is a nice distraction, a story heard once tucked in bed. There is work to be done, Mason. A wall shall be here and it shall be transparent. Made of minutes stacked on one another: we will still be able to say "Hello". I should still hold your small arm up by wishing and you touch them: there they are our poor efforts.

- Bajo.