Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

November 9, 2004

Usquebaugh smells wafting standing outside smoke on a twilight gloam--lesser light than last time--feeling my bare feet in peatysod crusty at edges, no feeling of a stable earthlink--'No more Sid' my mom says...'no more body it's gone, wheredhego?' 'Getting dark', I say. 'Better go inside'.

Gone. No one standing there. No mom. Crow sounds and now ice. 'I don't remember it snowing in LA ever before this can't be LA it must be New England because I saw the maples with sap frozen runnelled. Freeway sounds muffled but a din anyway--feeling extremely sad about the city of frozenangels and freeways.

Home. Body. Make yourself at home. No place like home. There's no body home. Any body home? Nobody not somebody. My mind tries to stop this game but it keepsongoing with 'home' as the fulcrum and 'body' as McGuffin.

Leftover dinner dishes not cleaned and I freak cause the plates crusted glued with food and padscrubbers not enough and hot water burns me and dishes drop but much heavier thudding noisy. Careful of not cutting and place them neatly in big-to-small sizes on the floor sculpturally with colored food particles and caked smears like painted accents. Thinking how this would be as good as any ever made, but then don't care and toss it outside on the street. Dogs come running up and sniff but 'No food' I yell.


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