scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

17.3.10

scale, and cheese sandwiches

marigold blossom tea, no cakes. A coaster i'll have to replace, cork, on the table i painted by hand, a coat of poly, and another and another and another. The wind blows, the ground crumbles, a city turns to dust.

I am terrified of stars exploding. Not ours, particularly, or at all, as i won't see it; but the bigness of them, the power, the cataclysm. Those color photographs NASA publishes to make it seem normal and tame, like a Beanie Baby tiger, ludicrous. It isn't a rational thing and it doesn't have to be - a black hole, right, even a supermassive black hole, the singularity isn't very big, at all, compared to its mass; but a nebula. A galaxy. the Great Wall, and the others - big. The scale of it: thousands of degrees, billions of years. Those perfect barred spirals in the Hubble deep field.

There is so much i don't know, so much i do, and the weight, the staggering weight of each of them, so cold, so soft, an anesthetic fog.

Labels: separation, writing

scrawled @ 14:15