Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The one girl, she had her face buried in her hands. The other girls said come over here, sit here. Leave me alone. They protested once or twice then gave up, unconcerned.

I've been leaning forward on the train, to ease my perpetual, vaguely sour stomach.

There's always an intriguing group of people waiting at the crosswalk on the northeast corner of Canal Street and Hudson in the morning. Fashion models and religious nuts. Pretty young dog walkers. Slavic looking guys. A couple of the Lost, together or apart, seeking Chinatown or the river.

Monday, September 18, 2006

I suspected that Steve had passed out. I sensed this as my attention shifted drearily from the television to my laptop screen. It seemed there was a new stillness in the room due to the removal of an animated element. I turned my neck lazily, expecting to see him prone, eyes closed, mouth agape, in the posture of one who has retreated into slumber. But his eyes were open and directed toward his laptop, on the coffee table before him. Though he was reclining he held his head up off the pillow. His index finger was poised on the keyboard, as though he were studiously contemplating whether to click. However, he remained perfectly motionless. I turned away and turned back a minute or two later. He was in precisely the same position. I turned away again, trying not to get his attention and thereby disturb his reverie. When I looked again minutes later he was still in precisely the same pose, finger on the key, on the precipice of triggering some action but never doing so.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

2:48 am and the urgent sound of marching, tribal drums fills the air outside. They've discovered drums, these sons and daughters of privilege. Sons and daughters of bitches. Drums and the air of sanctified ceremony only they can bring.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

He hears the sounds of fucking through the walls.

The lid was off the jar.

His lip bled into his cupped hand.

God I was tired yesterday and I'm tired again today. I briefly lost consciousness on the couch while watching college football - Syracuse and Iowa - and reading some article about Dick Cheney. It became increasingly difficult to focus on either the article or the game and then my mind became aswim in a menacing froth of whistles, huddles, arms negotiations and Condoleeza Rice.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

On My Way to Work

I'm pretty sure there was a woman walking toward me on the platform. Young and black. And I do believe I sat and waited for the train. I am under the impression the skies were clear when I emerged from underground. A woman walked her dog under the scaffold. I have a feeling the light stopped me at the avenue.

But I can't say for certain.

Critics and Audiences Agree

it's fun to bangg married chix everyday

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

I awoke with the following maxim floating in my head: "The easiest way to get rid of something is to sell it."

Monday, September 04, 2006

I caught the HBO On-Demand narration as I was flipping through and it said: "... so you can manage the entertainment that enters your home."