Monday, December 24, 2007

Christmas Eve Day, Day

(Dec 24/07)

It is Christmas Eve day, 3:58am to be precise, which I seldom am, precise, not 3:58. It is raining to beat the band, a hard sleety driving rain, a rainy-rain rain. One must do algebra with a hammer, as with vectors, into’s, out-of’s and minuses. It is now 4:05am Christmas Eve day, this rainy raining day, the day before Christmas day day.

(Dec 23/07)

I slept upon a button last night, a divot driven into the cup of my hipbone bone. When I was an unreasonable undergraduate I wrote a short story about a boy who was conceived in the backseat of a sedan, one of the upholstery buttons jagging into his mother’s belly, leaving an imprint on his forehead at birth.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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