11.10.01. 4.33pm.
needed: one elephant.
outside the sky is overcast, and the castings are the color of the light of a flashlight shining on a lover's back in a room lit by blacklight. at street level the light is sucked up by the yellow leaves which are day-glo in the twilight lavendar murkiness of the rest of the lane. tiny little black birds flutter across the foolsgold sky in the shape of a snake, and the wind hisses in the trees.
half an hour ago i looked out my window and saw apricot sunlight shining horizontally on the dome across the street, and the sky was bluejay's-chest pale, and it was lovely, and i did not write about it then.
there are books, we see, full of the best writing our predecessors have done, and they are all kinds, and some are boring but some are the most beautiful delicate productions, with ribbons and flowers and home-made paper, and we say (rightfully) how can we ever live up to that? but we will, because we always do. (we are told we are the best class ever so far.)
"and i'm tired, of" and i don't know the rest of the song yet.
i would appreciate it if my life would stop moving, for just a day. my troubled mind could use a nap.