catatonia

have spent a lot of time lying on the couch under a mound of blankets staring out the window at the headless palm tree and the flat grey sky.

the clock is moving along, but my body is not. it has a time all its own.

luckily i am not leaving mon appartement again today.

no way. i have grand plans for the evening.

i am going to make a bed-nest-avec-roof and read The Panic Hole by Jim Harrison, which is an amazing essay and which brilliantly relates, inside it. there will be flashlights and lots of blankets and pillows and maybe some cats. an allusion of safety. an allusion of peace.

if i can get out of this couch-nest.

i tell you, that headless palm tree is getting more boring by the moment. or is it more philosophical? i am losing track of the meanings which ought to be ascribed to things.

i will not throw up again. not for a while. hello darkness my old friend. i've come to talk with you again. better by far than this empty panic of death that follows purging.