Thursday, August 18, 2011


I must wonder what story you tell yourself.
What does it feel like to you when it rains?
What happens when the drops become vapor?

Lebowski walks in a fury, the curse and swear of the world. It has gotten in her way. It's presence only making things worse. You are beautiful, I say and laugh. She condemns the day until she sits and looks at the rain, feels the air. Later is a smile a joke a laugh and the world is wet with a small change.

Drummer calls and stammers out hurt. How what where when is the pain?

Here, he says.

I say you are beautiful and not whole. Get whole. Whatever it takes, get whole.

Hand talker struts with posture, replaces good morning with no, asks if I witnessed the difficulty of the rain and seems surprised by the thought no. Pleasantly surprised.

I say, You are beautiful.

And he knows.

Music, anyone?


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