wolven7 | A brief note on Today

Poe& Mark Z. Danielewski - [Hey Pretty]--- So, it all began, with me going to get my check. That's not at all how it began, but that's the way it starts, for this. I stopped by the mail box, and found, there, a pleasant surprise, among the bills and junk: A Letter. For Me. I savoured it, and still do. Always will. I love mail. Always have. I moved down the street, and smelled the smell of death and mulch, and concrete and poisoned water. I went to to the gas station, then, as I had decided to poison myself, a little more, in accordance, something in me wanting to match the senseless property creating, life destroying efforts, down by my house, and i bought myself cigarettes. Still reading my mail, i left the store.

I waited for the bus, reading the letter, feeling slightly euphoric, smoking, afterwords, in response to an intimate gesture. Communication, to me, will always be better than sex. Sex is communication, and often ineffectual. Sometimes, though, it's the only thing that will do. But a hand written letter-- A Message-- delivered to me, holds more meaning, at this point in my life. And i got on the bus. I read House of Leaves, and then i was the Jobplacething, and i picked up my check, and walked down to the bank.

It was there that i discovered the mistake. In my euphoric absorption of the sacred act of communication, i had left something vital in the gas station. Entwined in the letter, i had forgotten my ID. Couldn't cash the check. They called. It was there. They had it. I could open up a checking account so that this wouldn't happen again. They said. I said i would. But they needed my ID. Wouldn't be able to make it back with it, in time. I said. I'd be able to make it back on Monday, or Tuesday. I won't, though. Unless it is truly Free-- Arbeit Machen-- I want none of their deals, and their accounts. I left. Another bus ride, some phone calls, more reading. Obtained the plastic, unscathed. Returned home. Am now here.

This was my day, almost totally.

I dreamed of holding hands with an Angel, and other things. Which seem lost, and so much less important... In comparison... to that holding. Time to study