Sunday night - and this too

words heard. words and words heard too. until the typing takes over. keys heard now. plastic taps. mingling with the words heard.... words seen now, echoing words heard, keys tapped. typing seen for words heard once, gone now, but in the screen buzz black little marks

Tuesday Night - Thread of a Man

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Thursday Again

Writing again - verbatim - what I wrote after writing this, without knowing what it is exactly, simply by predicting it. There is the risk of writing only what I could write; and there is the risk of writing what I won't; then of course there's the risk of writing what I do predict, although it might combine what I can't. What I predict then is this.

Wednesday's Ashes

Window open, on the couch, with the memories of a friend, who comes to me in ink. Curls my letters into writing and shapes the whiteness of the page, coloring pictures shaping my mind, of her walking with me somewhere, somewhere years ago - I can hear my neighbor's footsteps passing down below. My neighbor's gone now. Door closed, just a silence echoing night. Where are you I ask? Here, she replies. Too silent for me to hear. Silence words again, on pages that don't hear anymore. Where is she, I write, listen.

Monday Night - Ligthning Holes

Lightning they call this. Thunder. Rain. There's real danger in this. Lulls and pauses that dramatists are noting for malevolent pace. Never heard rain sound so frightened, so keen to get down; never seen a moon look so guilty for being a part of this ripping of paddock-size sheets into a night stripped back in a flash of cloud, made so white as to render it cloudless. I've opened the window: this eager spree of rain descending; a long dragged sheen of thunder splitting itself with electric glee, articulating mountainsides and the desert's long curiosities. Its creeping toward the city. In from over the island. And I with it wait wet for little spires to explode. Great storm. Reply to ventures up north. To holes in old ground big as storm clouds.

Sunday - A Most Sunday

Knew a racing car driver. Believed in God. His faith had him comprehend what he was doing. He was racing for glory, to extend to his people the spirit of His beneficence, and to better become a man - a holy one. His belief shaped him; shaped his day, made comprehensible to himself and all others every act and thought that came through his life. His belief made sense of him. And it finally killed him. So strong was his belief, it left him no alternative. You can quit you know, a friend told him, No I can't he replied. His belief was like a train; like an unstopping rhythm. Far bigger than him. It made him. And it destroyed him. In flames at 320 km/h. I now ask do you risk a life of belief, knowing it will give your life it's perfect shape; knowing it will give meaning to every detail of your life, knowing when the story ends, when the conclusion comes, you're finished? Or, do you live empty, fragments, long? Do you live on the wheel, I ask?

Thursday Night - What Curious Wednesday

It'll be the that which chisels your name into your concrete upright slab, upwards from your down there head. It is that which vibrates the white right now, out from this screen, sending with it all these words into your brain by eyes: yes, no, think, imagine, believe, wonder, what.... Curiosity will kill me: the screenwhite buzz of it, heading for the slab. Keep me alive all the way and then do me in. Slip right in and under my senses, corrode every reasoned rationale and rational reason, thought, belief, imagining. Curiosity. To it I a cat. Saying no, not that, could kill me, could kill him. And I'll believe it, after reasoning, after imagining.... Then I'll begin to walk in the act of this reasoned rationale, hard inside boots on solid floor, just as curiosity comes abuzzing; comes a white-buzz way through and on to that slab. Conjuring me from ways from waydowns below, to do this, or that, instead. See jobs drop away down there, and see people, friends; see countries and bank-accounts and too-too many mores to count all becoming fastly, thiss, and thats.... Curiosity kills me living, I that cat.