and mindful

around me, the walls are breathing. the air is thick and thin at the smae time and i can see gentle flares of smoke sliding between cool currents from the window and the warm dry air folding forth from the vents courtesy of the heating. the windows are murky and condensated and i am reading passages from a book procured from my nest of boxes in the laundry closet. the upward light is like a candle and i can see only the portions of the page the light chooses to roll across, i can't help taking it all in.

and suddenly, a cool washes through me and i find myself, once again, in awe. in awe of the flickering light outside my window. in awe of the texture of the pages as i turn them over in my hands. in awe of the strange reflections boasted by the television screen. in awe of the pipes that make a singular, symphonic note when the neighbors shower. in awe of the artery system of wires and pipes that run, tangled, behind these walls and beneath this floor. cain the cat wanders in and i am in awe of the shape of his skull, the function of his ovular seeming eyes, the control he holds, careful and graceful, nonchalant over his tail as it sways often closer then away upwards, then still in odd irrecognizable patterns.

there are stacks of dvd's and shelves of videos pushed flush with the speakers against the wall.

i am not even turning the pages of the book in my hands now. i am silent. and i am leaving this, etched in the tombstone of time for you to chew on.

enjoy the walk.

2003-02-17 | 10:45 p.m.
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