Tuesday, May 04, 2004

I am tired. All I want to do is go home for a while. And leave my brains on the sixth floor of the Perry Castaneda Library. Nestled in between the cubicles with the electric outlets and the sofa that looks out onto the grass. Leave it there and beg it not to think in my absence. For that is and has always been my undoing. The racing ahead of time and the careful construction of brittle scenarios. My only excuse being that maybe all the construction will make its way to a relatively controlled reality. Fat friggin chance!

Not happening, not now, not soon, maybe not ever. And pay no attention because this day and this week is the fractal that plays itself out every once in a rare frequency. And I am tired. And I am going home. In two weeks' time...

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