cutting great neck

i love sitting in the darkness.




it swallows you up. black and flowing, like a curtain that closes in all around you. but you can still run, still feel for miles all around you, as if you're standing blind in one of those midwestern great fields of grass that seems to expand every step you take. darkness is endless like that, and free.

infinite: you think your hand can reach its end, but it never will.



blue swirls of light slip into the darkness.

the light from the computer screen ebbs, licking wrinkled papers and the mugs and plates and the keyboard and my fingers typing endlessly.

outside the sky is purple, snowy purple like a liberal arts shirt tucked under someone's bed. wiry tree limbs seem to float upwards like balloons, almost rising towards the sky, roots like teeth flowing away from their gums.




i'm encased in this darkness like a bug trapped by amber. darkness is an amber sun; it spreads, its rays flooding everywhere, ubiqutous and beautiful and dangerous.

some very melancholy nostalgia:




you rise in me like a sun.



as night seeped into the crevices of the sidewalk, i stepped outside with my dog and traveled across meadows and concrete and long, black roads that blended into the infinite cavity of night. there was nothing to think about, nothing to know. music still wedged in time poured into my ears for the first time in a long time. i pulled on ginger and she resisted me and i pulled harder, and she finally gave. and i stumbled near a pole of light, stands on a yard in the corner of hampshire rd. and baker hill, that scaled across my eyes like a great big white sun floating in midair, and a huge white hole ripped open in my cornea and the blackness fell in and was trapped inside and all that was left was the writhing white bulb swelling all around me and then the night clasped in and.