"an idle mind is a devil's workshop," so i was told by an inanimate, or i heard.
"but the mind is always in a state of processing - creating, replicating one thought after another, a constant flux of irregularly upbeat-downbeat chores and dishes, unwashed plates, spoons and forks, at times barred but always resounding to the pull of an atmospheric gravity," he continues.
because i am buying time before i start another serious sit-down with the wild, i am giving mr. palawan and his elongated nose a moment to restore his reputation as a wooden doll on my table... "what was that again?"
"having sex without love. memories of my melancholy whores. sex is the consolation you have when you can't love. three shoes may fit my hat, but no gloves can choose to do what my one-eyed eel can."
"gloves? you mean your ha--"
"hands or no hands, because i don't, in fact i have beads, satisfaction by the nose-bleed, they peak thorns in the wayside...
a bit of rubbing of my pen,
a few times
or even more,
we dip it
again and again
within a crevice - flows
my pen -
becomes a fountain - explodes!
life in onion-skin paper.
"care to elaborate?"
"number one, what is the moral lesson of 3:10 to yuma? number two, was vengeance justified in the brave one? number three, purchasing a nikon 50mm f/1.8d lens and remote control through ebay achieves what? number four, will you actually wear your first ever up maroons shirt, even after spending around eight years in the university, you just bought?"
"space creates time, and time creates space. we will be fazed by the vastness of this screw-driver."
"she hasn't really left my consciousness yet, i apologize. her face still disturbs me - still drowns me in my reality of singleness. despite my resolve to find deeper levels of intimacy here, she haunts me still..."