Thursday, August 15, 2013

(I think I am the only awake person on this train, sometimes)

Ryan Adams is Dead. L.V.Newc is listening. 

Sometimes I feel that he tolerates my eccentricities.

I am a crazy artist-painter. I feel like I've been repressing her but she's in there and that's who I am. Are you okay with that?

Yes. I miss her.

I am nearly crying. On the subway I listen to music and stare people in the face. I think I am the only awake person on this train, sometimes. I look away when they notice me staring.

The young boy will present his talent a day early because he will not be in class on the day of the talent show. He prepares his materials to palpable tension. He holds up his beakers. He draws to him bottles of vinegar and iodine, dead bugs, crushed leaves, dirt. He begins to mix.

He continues mixing. He wants to send home beakers full of his concoctions, one for each member of the audience. He wants to continue mixing. After ten minutes the teacher ushers him from the front of the room.

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