688

I am nervous. She is disgusted by me, by my apathy. I do not feel like a writer (def.) what is the spark. Back to last Thursday; nuit blanche. The essay; to finish before Friday. Five pm. Day (def.) notion without meaning. The ride is over. I step out of the gate. Again; and I want to go back again. Again, but I cannot. I am solemn. The park is closed for repair. Lack of sleep illuminates – sleep erases. Fragment, be linear; sequential, referential. I am full of holes. She is contained. Tyrant (def.) of the retina, to pound into sub mission under blue-white sun. I had to go To go back. fifteen pages. Before four pm. Empty in the brain a bit; while (alive) do (perceive; think; act; adapt; learn; feel) end. This program does not crash; it merely ends; it is too stable. Peel and Sherbrooke. The Cab pulls over, in front of the Bank. I am not this point, I am leading to this point; like it led me to every other point before; a pattern per quanta repeated. "I’ll be right back." I step out; the cold bites; the Cab awaits; middle aged. Overweight. Blues Man (under perched). Fedora hat. Gravity is playing nasty tricks with his skin. I open the passenger door. I lean over the passenger seat (hurry) Thank You. Please remove your card. I have been thanked. Odd; over a crisp twenty dollar bill. I should have worn a hat. Six eighty-eight Sherbrooke, fifteenth floor. My money is up there. But where is six eighty-eight Sherbrooke. I am in front of the McConnell building. I cannot err and wander about aimlessly. I must go east, I think: students running (in herds, hurry) it should have taken under three to get here. Minute twenty-five of wandering-about later and I (stand in front of six eighty-eight) and figure; my head is frozen. Magnitude (def.) one order is times ten. I cannot think; the thawing of my head. And my money; of anything else but throbbing; contain me. This program does not crash. Monday. Nine. Four nine. Four Morning. Nine. Nine four. Four nine. Monday. Monday morning. Nine forty nine forty. I have to go. To meet with – McConnell building. Black soot. Fifth floor, ten am she calls a taxi (is taut) while I wash my face. Are the elevators working. Are the elevators working; the arrow over the middle lights up. Mirror (def.) to make dim the little it reflects; period. The door opens; period. I enter and am crowded by an image of myself. And a small Asian woman. Fifteenth floor. My money is up there. And a small Asian woman is telling me that the button stating “ground” is useless because there is no ground level. I push it out of curiosity. It lights up but as I let it go reverts to the same state: Off, as before. There is no ground level. Coal does not reflect; it absorbs. I am afraid. I poke and it falls apart. I blurt out truisms. I am not smart. I abstract the Situation; a lie repeated, further, to remember the whimper. Dull coal to dust. I lie on the floor. Am trying to sleep; on the floor – sleep is denied; empty the brain a bit.

Madness

I feel the madness, under the surface, it is screaming. Like my brain's boiling. Must keep it under control. Chaos has me. For a minute I feel good, for ten I'm sucked into the void, for five I hear the most beautiful music, for twenty I can't breathe, for fifteen words fill my head, crazed words, haunting words, dark words. Melodies. And a pain in my neck, in my back. There's a lot on my shoulders. The world. The universe is beating the shit out of me. But I get up. I can't not.
This is how I feel.