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an error in chemistry

culling words, a bit of dull poetry, attempting to recreate the tarn of a certain puddle i came across the other night. here i am in the inky black; it's all pale -- an achromatic copy of a landscape design. the puddle flushed with a rudimentary vortex of ripples. well, there was a pervading dark tentacled dampness, though the garland lights in the video store were singularly thrilling. bare branches burnished. it all fades and fades, piano music at 2 a.m.

days later, sipping hibiscus tea, i feel this like no earthly sensation. i had walked into the mist to sip, what would be, a yerba mate, steaming milk, toned auburn gray. i sat down and took my book outta my jacket - the subterranean voyage of nicholas klimm, scanning passages in pomponius mela about the old african satyrs, a forgotten book in quarto gothic - the vigiliae mortuorum secundum chorum ecclesiae maguntinae - i don't remember. anyway, the place was packed. i had managed to find an almond table against the side of a hippo-skinned wall. the tea felt terrific. i read, and here you dropped something, this is yours, i'm drifting

the time between now and then is a beautiful pastiche of fellaheen humor. tuesday: people of the yucatán fry tortillas with black beans and avocado, turkey and pickled onions, too. idle political chatter, jokes, the non-philosophy of laruelle. drunk later, music playing. the icy saturyne of winter hangs outside my window like a superstition, and i can't tell whether the dream or after-dream is concrete or a reverie because, anyhow, poetic musings.

it's getting on -- late now, and while i've felt a bit lost lately, i know i can always count on that moment of sudden and conscious contact. pulling the airbrake of time -- letting this or that moment rest and breathe in peace. by this simple method i've immobilized millions of moments, perhaps paying terrible fines but stopping the train. say why do you do it? the red-nosed conductor might ask.

because i like the view.