The Year of the Horse Be Now

I just realized that I haven't yet written my diary entry for the day, well I'm writing it now so I can no longer say that I haven't written it yet but I'm not done so I can say something to that effect if I am so impelled or otherwise caused. Impelled I be. I am stuck thinking about the parabolic structure of Byzantine Social Behavior in he silver elevator of my dread. Here I be, awaiting my release upon greater floors of more consequence than the previous, true whether you're going up or down, and I am standing in circles, spitting on my thoughts as they fly past my eyes & ears like pigeons waiting to sit down & crap. I don't usually have teh sort of thoughts that take that crap mid-flight, although that does happen, and when it does it's usually ugly. I avoid teh tangents and in fact erase them with a diligence heretonow unbeknownst to the innermost semblance of being of me. Perhaps I am in there somewhere, but I don't see the pineapple fields anymore, and I don't smell the sulfrous doom of so many a beaten generation while I walk through the very real flowers of this life - they grow around the imaginary mustard plantations & gasoline trees. I can still see the beastly fruits of the previously unsurmountable foesome mountains however. As plain as ugliness it very self. They grow & rot at the same time, peeling their skins back to reveal naked pulp of deciduous longing. There may be spells cast & recipes concoted & plans illustrated & deviety blooming all around me, but I can only see the beast-fruits of the monster trees there in teh distance. Somehow everything is easier to see when it;s a million miles away. These closer gruesomes are fuzzy outlining. I suppose that is aided by my new senses, my new ears & nose & mouth & skin. Yes, I have a new skin. It's not that I shed the old one, no, I buried it. The thicker my new one gets the harder it is to remember the old one, but eventually it will reach the muscles as the innermost and I will have hyperbolic seizures while chewing on delightfully annoying caramels that stick between the gums of generosity like eggs will break on the concretous backs of demonstrosiusness. Or something like that. Green acres of home be millenia of spectra away. The first time I saw green was a long time ago. I'd have to retrace a million steps to remember it clearly. The first time I saw blue was on the plane somewhere though, and red too, but yellow is always close, always obvious - the half-eaten color of weaklings. Do you suppose there are any seats left at the track? I don't gamble, I just like watching horses because horses are powerful & stupid. Coarse & fragile heartstrings can be plucked backwards like a cat's back and fangs be wielded unscabbar'd for good this time.
Tuesday, February 5, 2002
03:38 p.m.
by: adam douglas payne