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2003-12-16 4 10:59 p.m. sitting. bathed in the cathode-ray glow of infomercials. who knew a pilates workout could make you platinum blonde and fix your teeth too? who knew? the words, or rather the bellow of "all my friends are murderers" echoes incessantly without a voice, but with the appropriate riff playing gothic-chant background. my feet scrape the carpet -- thin and textured to my thick, dry soles. i haven't left this room in hours but i feel as if i've been walking an eternity. my shoulders droop & my neck incubates stress like it was on a hatching mission. the picture of a man defeated? maybe. the picture of a man ignoring vh1's insomniac music theater more likely. the chair becomes that pentitentiary you refuse to be paroled from b/c it offers 3 square meals & a comfort zone. i run my fingers through my hair & pick at the knotted strands. they get thicker each day & i now i have a new chant playing in my mind's ear..."it's gonna fully lock up if you don't do something about it quick". i've never been one for heeding advice. instead the one pissing streams of caution into a gale-force assault & not living to bemoan the consequences. "i stopped combing my hair so my thoughts could lock". i think that was saul. i run my hands through it again & i miss it already. by new year's it'll be gone for sure. quickly passed, & only a smile-inducing memory...like a poltergeist reality or a half-hearted infomercial, peddling self-improvement sans shame. we have come so...so far, haven't we? how did today become yesterday... all over again?
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