13/06/08
I am walking down laburnum street in the rain again and I see this piece of wood and begin to think about what the rain had done to this wood and then about how I first drew people’s brains down this road. Begin again. I am walking down laburnum street and even though I am home now writing now right now I am still thinking about what I first thought when I first begin to think when I first saw the wood that I didn’t saw, and why someone else cut the wood in this way like a site for sore eyes. Fore sore four score and thirty thirsty first Thursdays like today. Begging again. a thirst for brains and drawing them and drawing a note and carrying a tune and how you can take a note of something and the difference between that and taking note of something, and then of course you could take a new tune note or not, or you could take coke through a note, alternatively. Begin again for a thurd turd time. Or is this a fourth score? So the rain made you this way? I miss you so much and I can’t bear this time away. This pain. This bread. This loaf. Use your loaf. A heart. A home. A brain. The nerve. I am home again, with this piece of wood, which I carried here all the way from laburnum street. On my way back, between there and here, I found this blunt Browne pencil advertising fine wood goods. When I got home, my phone had died. It is just me and the woods now, and the trees I can’t see.
