|hey, the shape of the skull (this one is for you gipper)
||[Feb. 3rd, 2004|03:24 pm]
|||||maybe a little.||]|
i work thirty (30) hours a week at shakespear & co. selling books. i have an oseology class, a prehistoric ecology class, a japanese class, & an english class. on tuesdays i spend about four (4) hours on a fucking train traveling back & forth between brooklyn college & hunter college. hunger college & breaking college. i think alot about violence on the train. i run these spectral hands of ectoplasm over the shape of the thought. inbetween work & school, during cavernous days, in the hollowed out rib cage of the carcass of schools i still run in mazes of paperwork. don't you have fucking computers? can't you look it fucking up? oh fine fuck i'll bring you triplicate paperwork or whatever it is you want. but before i leave, this place is going to go day of the fucking dead.
i figured out what the crystal skull does.
so i'm busy all the time. there is this hive of spiders in my chest & when my arms & legs arn't moving, they motivate my soul. they wriggle & then they weave. i'm a stitched together shadow but i can see the shape. its all plato's cavern but i can see the shape. nights when i go out there seems to be a hollowness to silhouttes. sometimes i handle it okay. sometimes maybe i drink too much but not enough to find my own patch of abyss.