A murder... in the wet skeletal branches, of crows. We're surrounded in this
rooftop island amid the puddling sky, where sometimes 'crazy' hits me like a
punch in the stomach and helps stop the empty grumbling nag of hunger.
That's how the closing off of channels to 'The Informant' (as air is split
by a lightningbolt) feels, and air is usually thick at this level. Tonight it
is orange, damp, and especially dense.
My friends call on me from time to time to remind themselves of why they
hate me. It's partly owing to the fact that I must bend low to look dead on
in the mirror where-as they are framed by a vain and low self-esteem, I'm
slow to learn...
I decide to head out again, alone, and offer myself to the night. Breaching
the low apse of clouds frozen, crystal stars-sparks from the clash of
unseen knives high above in the moonless skystab me with their vast, naked
distance. I strip and run down the water's edge chased by chilly, tickling
raindrops. My cock hides tucked like a red-breasted robin frightened in its
nest, my nipples harden like the caps of two tiny acorns, my hair flows like
the willow's shroud, my 'laurels' flash like a misty half-moon behind a veil
of clouds as I dart past, dissolving, grey and spindly as driftwood... the
rush of wind, gentle waves receding into fog...
Breathless, the crows disappear silently at the first leak of light... a new
year has begun.
New Year's Day I returned at 2 in the morning from festivities and fair-weather friends
to an enormous host of crows hung like a dark, silent jury in the trees around my
apartmenthundreds of eerie shapes in the drizzling darkness. Amazed as
always how the animals, so small and unadorned, can stay out in the cold and
I cannot, and that I had a warm bed to retire to, I decided to go out in the
rain for a sort of 'baptismal by nature' down at the beach. At daybreak, in
bed at last, I wrote this entry in my journal before going to sleep.... and
recorded the piece the following (New Year's) day.