Modified: Wednesday, May 04, 2005 2:32:44 AM

Silent stare of blank screen jutting into the night dry air
Sitting in my red chair leaning back but only at far as it will take me, if I lean further I will fall, because the chair cannot support the weight once it is titled off its axis. I would fall onto the red rug that would catch me in patterns and designs and tell me stories through its wordlessness, stories I couldn’t begin to comprehend in my present inebriation. A little drunk on whisky and, well, sunk on the ship of good tidings. The American century. Capitalized by accident, capitalized by destiny. Correct spelling goes a long way. Take it from one who knows it, take it from one who’s been there to the other side of the deep transient gulf of the human spirit egging on the ghosts and flailing in the tide of stolen ambition. I know not what I say and there is always room for improvement. Forget it frog I found your frond floating in the fast frothy fetid darkness of deluged delight. Dancing in the autumn autocracy. And another album is audible in the rotten reefer rinds. Total timbolfierant cy in tel. Things take so long to emote it hurts my feelings like a gallstone passing through my innermost brain cavities. Giving birth to deformed sentences and pale nothings of former fondness. It aches me to tell what I do not know, and every bit strains my strands from this side to that – and the worst part, the absolute Worst Part is that there is someone waiting watching and wondering what exactly I am working on in the waning windowless