I have been getting up before noon everyday since I have been released. It is a nice turn of events. Besides this morning. I woke up and things were fine. Sarah said she wanted to make panacakes, and I said that I would like it very much if she made panacakes. So she made the panacakes in the kitchen. Only she started to get burnt, and then burned herself a second time. And the panacakes were not working out so well. It suddenly became my fault, she did not want panacakes at all it turns out. But she insisted that she needed to finish cooking the panacakes. This made me frustrated. We became more frustrated together, and she threatened to throw the panacakes in the garbage. I told her she better not and said that I needed to finish cooking the panacakes. She needed to be left alone. I thought that the whole argument was silly about 5 minuets later. So I ate two panacakes, cleaned up and headed out the door. I bussed up to evergreen to find the sauna closed. I was really looking forward to sweating out my tenseness. I think that the sauna opens in half hour though. The panacake fight is still going. I hung up the phone a few minuets ago. It is nice to know I am alive. There was a goodshow at the redhouse lastnight that was unlike shows at the redhouse. I hope that team blog stays safe raising their fists.
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A poem by Roybyn.
a coldsweat beer held by my left hand; i stair out the window into the street.
one cigarette is smoking in myright hand.
i drag the cigarette.
"pray tell?"
coffee and bread. there are smokes in my coffee.
a beautiful young woman bikes by
as two swallows dive and turn up into the sky.
a hollow man sits down at a table across the
window i stair through.
i drag the cigarette.
"pray tell?"
coffe and bread. there are smokes in my coffee.
dishes clink and make sound among the quiet
conversations - all ignoring me,
or, as i try and hide.
i drag the cigarette.
"pray tell?"
coffe and bread. there are smokes in my coffee.
i breathe deeper with each thought that flourishes.
i think of her, that type of person, tomorrow's day
and the rest of the evening.
an author, myself, a whole lot of things.
i drag the cigarette.
"pray tell?"
coffee and bread. there are smokes in my coffee.
all i could afford was coffee, cigarettes and bread.
as well as thoughtful needlessness.
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