Thu, 19 May 2005

it is completed when there is no one left to witness
I spent my workdays dreaming of incidents in her history she had never spoken of, blank canvas for my inevitable and ultimately corrosive projections, a December morning as a little girl dancing with her mother across the kitchen linoleum with little ladybugs drawn in blue ink on the backs of her hands and rhubarb pies just starting to brown in the oven, a June evening where her eighteen-year old hands push a piano down the dirt path to a clearing of blankets and underwear and an axe with which she will enact her final revenge for ten years of forced lessons, until finally I have abstracted her entirely from the flesh and tedium of what she truly is, back in my head, cotton in my ears.
(12:24.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #