kind of mythopoesis

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

"Put a blanket."

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.