Its fifteen below. I'm up typing for hours at a time, and my body structure has found new definition, as if a different artist took over chronicling my spiral downward, my descent. I wish I could shove nanites down my throat and slice off my arms and replace them with wiper blades, the only thing handy right now that comes as a matching pair. Thinking about women in faraway places, thinking of novels and stories and being melded to the keyboard. And wishing I was a drifter, walking the railroads, an insane unknown. Happy.
5 comments:
15 below? It's 7:09 a.m. and 52 degrees here and there's a wind advisory. They're warning drivers that there "might" be snow.
15 below? God, I'm glad I'm in Arizona.
15 below.
Shit.
Coldest weather I've ever seen was 5 below. Cold enough. No thanks.
Stay close to the keyboard.
Warmer there.
Well, hey, that's still well above absolute zero, where no molecules can even move.
A lyrical tone poem, masquerading as a blog post.
Hope the writing gig continues well. You are one eloquent guy...
I remember -15. Screw THAT, I say!
Irony again, Wayne. I had my wiper blades replaced yesterday (our recent snowfall decided to shred my last pair.) I love the photo here, btw. Haunting.
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