the night of 1-31-01
a hotel on the edge of a city
a rather old, dusty, musty hotel on the edge of a science-fiction-like city, that's dirty and crowded
i’ve been here before
the hotel has seen better days, i will admit, the gild has faded from it's banisters
i am there, in the hotel.
i don’t want to be here, though
i want to be there
anywhere
i go out, to the thin strip of gray grassland that separates the city’s outer edge with the place i rest my feet on now
the grass is frozen stiff, creaking back and forth in the icecool wind like bones
and it stretches west and east , the hotel acting as a funnel, or a rock in a stream
it’s cold down here, and sad, and lonely, and the despair is like small leeches sucking your
soul out of you until there’s just onion skin inside
i runjump and swim upwards through the air
the coldness is there, even above the frozen ground
up up to the slategrey clouds i
break though them and here below me they are friendly, kind, a now white whipped
cream.... no softer, lighter than that
beaten egg whites and up here it’s warmer and the sun’s shining and reflecting everywhere
and it’s just bright white and the blue of the sky and i think that this is heaven, but then i
think that heaven would have a certain smile in it
irish smile so i go back down, through the clouds, back into the place where the
loneliness disillusions everyone into thinking that they too are sad when they should be
glad
to go back to my site
