Right now is about having a fireplace I can't put wood in. There's a thin tight coil that runs taught across where fire goes that glows volcano red when a current runs through. It has that smell when I hit the switch that tells me it doesn't work right and it sort of moans the way audio cassettes do when they're ready to snap off. That noise is also my bed when I roll out of it at 2:30 in the afternoon which'd put me on the un-vacuumed floor that is swamped with nice clothes that've been flattening for months on top of books I begin and forget. At 3:30 my face is greasing up the computer screen, I lean back. By 4:00 I'm back in and distracted doing things with digital razors and tape that used to get cool peoples' hands real dirty and a little sliced up. Patience is the only thing I ever do I'm proud of. By 2:30 in the morning I'm trying to get paid, writing things like this and getting worse at pretending to want to reply at real people. I have an arm that grows back.
