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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


8.9.00

Ben

These days, ppl are vanishing; they're gone, for weeks, without a word, returning--sometimes--darker, older, even more restless.

They've been elsewhere.

Maybe they disappear cuz the days are like a long sigh, seemingly stretchless; nothing measures them adequately-love, schedules, familial duties, addictions of any sort--they're rendered almost meaningless.

Only night, autumn, falls, snuffing the days; hiss.

Maybe it's the collective disposition of the people I associate with; they have wandering eyes, and feet strong enuf to follow them...the only traces are paper or digital, rushed postcards, cryptic letters from some parallel universe, her voice on the answering machine, wan, worldly, longing for home, if only vaguely.

XOX

Phil






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