Proof Enough to Know We Were There

I walked into work and it was early May; I walked out and it was late October. The only way I’m sure the sun exists is when it pierces the blinds to wake me up at dawn. Exactly the hour, I can’t remember – hints of mead, almonds, pencil eraser, coffee grounds, pork, and old leather for $800, for a birthday, but not really, obviously. Too expensive. Screenshots to remember bald heads and fat faces in irreversible places; both are reversed from logic, both are in opposing places. I don’t know how to say it right. I can’t use my words. Every scene in Stalker (even though I’m only halfway through at the moment). Twisting the bottle to observe that vile body twisting the glass to observe that Black Tulip: Here we are, meta again somehow. I don’t think I’m going to make it much further than this entry, I’m afraid. Another unintended 12-hour day, another cruel lashing of the eyes and ruinous beating of the wrists, another dream of a better tomorrow.