you're drinking shiraz and eating little soy blue chips with sun-dried tomato salsa. cat power is on repeat and you've accomplished nothing since you came home from town and started her spinning her yarns. it's cold in here but you're too stuck in your chair to look for your sweater. the floor is cold the toilet seat's cold and the bed is cold. it's dark and you still haven't turned the lights on; you can hardly type your name -- which one? -- on the keyboard. where have you been... who are you, today?

can't you name the nothing that's so everything in your life?

the shiraz will put you to sleep. the shiraz will show you little white men dancing on your stucco ceiling. red river. downstream there is a dream to be dreamt and a future to be sutured and... uh... oh nevermind.