1:08 a.m., 2003-06-26
what an elusive bastard i've become.one day becomes the next, life becomes a cookie cutter, routine dictates.
i spend days, stripping siding to tar paper to sheathing to studs and replacing it all with new seams and new joints.
everything becomes a metaphor, everything draws meaning, routine dictates.
plumbing uncharted lines of incommunicato and writing new lines of unsatisfactory laments. i don't really touch notebooks anymore. they remind me of conscious thought and reason.
when compelled, i tear cardboard from boxes that once housed building supplies... trimcoil, fake cedar vinyl siding, certainteed architectural shingles, grace ice and water barrier. each one a new volume of recycled torn-edged pages. they look like old legal documents. they feel that way too...
distant, almost irrelevant.
to write like a reflexive byproduct of insomnia-induced waking catatonia. it's what i do. i'd say it was keeping me sane, but my mind begs to differ.
it's more of a way to herald the passing of a day, to refresh the metaphor, to recycle a line, build a new wall
as routine dictates.