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[13 11 2003|03:09a] |
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There is a lack of sleep, you understand. Against his ears, the hair brushes in and he lets his body jump each time. Under his back, the dust pushes center and he wont notice until morning when the cluster falls and tickles his ankle. He is sleepless, thinking of profound entrance ways, of the unlit rooms where people fantasize and scurry and drink themselves to death. Wherever this is, it is not where he was hours ago or where he will ever be again. In his nerve channels he hears the blood slowing. He makes out the darkest parts of the space and in this he imagines the belly of a whale. Where in the room one would see nothing, it appears to him as the wiring of intestines. There are birds chattering in the teeth and gushes of water from the other side of the stomach lining. And he would like to fumble within the liver and feel the comforting warmth of such a large animal which he has never truly seen. In this he decides to believe that no such monstrous creature could exist without his eyes having seen it's flesh. No longer is he within the corridor of a whale's architectural masterpiece. But instead soundlessly cupped within a boat in a vast, laid out sea. Perhaps filled with pineapples or mangoes. The smell of the salt and fruit being an encouraging reminder of nonexistence.
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