Thursday, March 29, 2007


Well, tonight I am very tired. The book is endless, the end is bookless. I am not as clever as I thought, and I didn't think I was very clever anyway. Not even James Brown telling me to get on up I am a sex machine is working. Everybody else looks tired too- walking past the window yawning, zig-zagging, following their feet, slumping, touching the wall lightly, bags on one shoulder. It's cat's hour, and they're all out slithering under cars, dashing across the road, hiding behind clumps of plants, all going about their business. they know everybody's gardens and everybody's secrets, all the things we don't know, big clumsy beasts that we are.


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