August 6th, 2003

glasses on the webcam

to hot to put my daylight bulb on

Maybe that's why I'm so tired. Dead mosquito in the bath this morning probably poisoned itself on my blood; I'm sick, poisonous, sick under paper weight, rubbish weight, heat weight. Throat gone sore, infected by boozing, crying, not sleeping, a cure from the supermarket when I go out to fetch smoothies and tiramisu while Rowland and Damian make pictures wriggle through wires, packaging uncharacteristically honest: Hexylresorcinol, blackcurrent, dual-action. Dull down the pain while I talk to Tristan's 11MB Word file, too hot to shout, just a despairing whisper, where are your pictures, where, where, where. Still hot even at 2am. Another lozenge. Nights that don't cool off but just get blacker. No dreams worth repeating, just real life rattling on in jerky double-time, stupid sing-song voices idiot faces, till morning prods through the slit in the curtains and light in my eyes white-hot iron bar light. Outside sun jabbing white knives through the trees, ice cream and capers crushed in the gutter, decadent sticky town. So many toes, nails painted pink and green and baby blue. Stretching tattoos fading to navy on burned-brown skin. Workmen in pecs and clever t-shirts. Vomit baked to the street, scuffle of leaves falling early in oven-fan wind. Reading BBC website by day, Fortean Times by night, un/truth stranger than non-fiction. Dirty fug of dissatisfaction, illogical tumble, muffled voices next door arguing tenants rights while I pluck my eyebrows waiting for my hair to change. Silent up here, should go home but I've sealed to the chair, fan battering my ear with less-hot air, screen quivering in the heat. When the alarm goes will I be bothered to
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    bowie - don't forget to leave the light on