I refuse consequence.

Sunday : working 2 – 5pm ->> 5:30 Lori, broadway stn.
Monday : working 5 – 8pm, Korean movie night
Tuesday :
Wednesday: cowboy bebop 12 – 5pm, rehearsal 6:30
Thursday : working 2 – 9pm
Friday : working 3 – 9pm
Saturday : working 2 – 8pm

“The morning mists had risen long ago, so the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting me.”

The body as a home. Every nail, chewed maybe, I do not know, is still a protection, a fine metaphor for weapon tipped fingers. Promises about an intent to future. We are our own checks and balances, our own inner ear and voice. Time will burn ripe without my having to think about it. This is a call to soft arms. My wrists, they crack under the weight of history, one hand a bracelet around bones, crack. This is a slight battle with having to go home. The foundations are iron but rusty. My attic is crawling with what nice people do and the traps I’ve laid down for them. One trick is to turn around in time to see the other person walk away without being caught. Otherwise sadness closes in, reminiscent of airports and long drawn out sighs on the street, as if everything should have changed while you were away for that last ten minutes. The best part is that trick is a lie, but an accepted one, like going home to comfort and safety. Stability deters the basic creature from improvisation, from evolving. Looking back only leaves part of your gaze behind you to drag like a sucking wake behind the sails of your coat and breaks the illusion of independence that pacing away like duelists kindly offers.

I want to visit Iceland. It appears to me as beautiful beyond measure, as if the music born there were merely a representation of the stones and soil.