03 December 2002 - 10:10 a.m. It is a turning point of words, a dance on the train-tracks, the distance between surge and blackout; a semicolon misplaced or omitted. Birds are nervous at the sight, flutter like butterflies disturbed by barracuda, like butterfly fish, like tattered buttercups sailing 30,000 feet above the earth and burning upon re-entry. A silver coin hybernates in my pocket, valuable, but not life changing: a question answered quickly, an easy-open container, a collectible collecting dust, out of style, waiting for trends and a movie reference, but clear water never abandons the sand. Steam bubbles up through the cracks and splits the earth open, pushing grains toward the surface like splinters working their way through skin. There is cake for dinner, and blood for dessert. Brand-new razor blades replace the spoons, the knives are paper. Paper knives for cutting paper lives, for dividing numbers into confetti, for New Year's Eve. 200 feet below the surface of the sea a glowing jellyfish consumes a prawn, and the prawn sees light. (0) Comments?

02 December 2002 - 5:52 p.m. Oy the mess! (0) Comments?

02 December 2002 - 2:27 p.m. there it goes. All the cool kids are doing it. (0) Comments?

02 December 2002 - 2:20 p.m. Test two. (0) Comments?

02 December 2002 - 2:18 p.m. Test one. (0) Comments?