a devil in a black dress watches over-why?
burroughs. he's here. the fellows in the other part of the house say he took a walk to find me.
-he wanted to find me?-
looking down over the water. a fish? a dead fish is floating by the sewage outlet, seemingly.. a fishing string? yes, he's tethered by a fishing string to the rusty pipe. the pipe is curled in, sort of like a melting straw. the fish is shiny floating, even through the crappy blackish water.
they said he would be cutting back and forth..
i knock and open the door slightly, the first thing i saw was his face, his face like bleached clay. i notice the calendar behind him, it's for all the people in the house, like he controls and knows what's happening every day for everyone. the calendars themselves? like his books, cut up and juxtaposed. we agree that the shows on television today are crap? thats what he was doing, he was watching television?
i thought he wanted to find me.. he's not out looking, he saw me on the television.
we lie down on seperate couches, like the ones in psychiatrist's offices, all clinical and slippery. there's a huge television in front of each of us, shiny and crusted, burnt on the edges christmas cookie style (the pillsbury ones you get in the tube, that don't work in an electric oven and become charred pieces of processed flesh)
- i woke up. it sucks, now i want to go back to sleep but i know i'll never get back there. i think i remember something about soap operas and charlies angels, but i'm not certain. *sigh
*. c'est la vie