Thursday, October 25, 2012

This rain, that sky. The weather reports have unanimously decided that the best place to be, right now, is indoors. The pots on the wall are making their presence felt; the dust on the floor cower at the lack of warmth. My mind is an empty room and no, I did not intend for that line to sound like that Death Cab For Cutie song. I guess what this is, is an exercise. Self-imposed and done with much slowness, after what has seemed like an entire ocean of procrastination, of excuses dressed up as reasons, of thinking, and, finally, of over thinking. It's a disease, I surmise, that I will never really get cured of. But a really bad cough is just as bad. In the space between that line and this, several words passed before my eyes: pedantry, decrepit, lucid, distance, meander. Alliteration unintended, attempt at meaning, nil. The order of the words elude me; I merely typed from memory. The perfunctory movement of a curtain's hem has disturbed the stillness, from this shut window, of what storm there is outside. There is cadence in the sound of rain and thunder. Or, maybe not.

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