Upon mailing the finalized web page to my ex-owner^b^b^b^b^bclient, I set out to get away from my computer and associated horrors. Grabbing my laptop and manuscripts, I transpose to Carpe Diem where I begin to type up the last pages of "Sins of the fathers." The last page, the suicide note, is re-written twice; only after I feel as if I had just written my own am I satisfied with it.
        As I begin to finish up, a dwarf-looking (in the Dungeons and Dragons sense) man approaches me and tells me of a poetry reading upstairs. It turns out he can write rather well and read even better and is in good company with the rest of the group. One girl stood out, though. She read three poems, I wasn't able to remember but the jist of them because of her magnetic eyes. She was rather small-figured, with curly brown hair, well-defined facial features and light-brown eyes that sparkled with concealed knowledge. Her poems were impressive, I remember that - good sense of rythm and tone - but her face... ::sigh:: she made eye contact several times, and seemed to look at me more than the rest - proabably because I was the stranger.
       I had nothing on me to read, but stayed well after the majority of the group had left, talking to three of the readers about stylistic approaches. I was invited to their next meeting, at one of their houses next tuesday... that might be my only shot, they are actually part of a class, I doubt I would be a permanent visitor. Regardless, I'm planning on reading Tropical Shower - poem and making eye contact with her towards the end. She seems non-bullshitty enough to respond to that.

        One of the readers happens to be a student of chinese, and I gave him a copy of the curse which was laid on me in Paris, written in a mirrored fashion. He could only decipher two characters, Opening and Hard/Difficult, but promised to show the spell to his teacher.

        It's five-thirty again, I have no clue where these hours go. I log on to e2 at midnight, and the next thing I know the sprinklers announce the coming of a new day. There are many things to be said, yet I have to get to sleep before the sun rises and the birds chirp, ensuring consiousness. "You aren't asleep yet, you can still hear us," they chant "you aren't asleep yet, and you never will be because you stayed up too late noding and now it's too late to get any sleep so you'll have to spend tomorrow looking like a zombie and sleeping through the afternoon on the couch, fucking your sleep pattern up even worse all because of your stupid habit. So Hah!"
They say that, I promise. Slow it down and you'll hear it.

I dare you.