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Journal
Entry September 13, 2003 It’s strange how you don’t even realize
that some things exist until you really sit still and listen,
and then you wonder if you’re really in your own house or really existing in
your own skin since you can’t imagine how that could have existed and you
never knew it before. There’s nothing like an old house, or even a new house, so long as
it’s not brand new. The point is
that it has a history, souls that has come and passed, the walls stealing a
small piece of its spirit and holding it within.
Houses have souls too. And
personalities. They talk, just not
out loud, only in your head, and unless you’re still and you listen,
you will miss them, and they will never speak it to you again. There’s a storm coming up, the thunder low
and rolling, the lightning causing the lights to flicker on and off and on and
off. The bathroom floor needs
moping and the rain comes, a plopping heartbeat coming from the cabinet as rain
seeps into the leak that nobody can seem to find.
Then the wind comes; it’d been windy all day, but nothing like now, and
the window creaks as though it’s straining to keep it out, but it’s getting
old too, and it’s strength is failing. It’s been thundering for almost two hours
now, the rain coming for five minutes now, but no sleep can be found.
There’s too much going on now. The
bathroom is dirty, and I need to clean the sink, the copper in the water turning
everything green, and the bathtub looks like it’s now the home to a new form
of algae. It’s doesn’t really
bother me though; I only clean it for other people.
It’s strange how you can’t stand to stay in someone’s house if
it’s messy, but your own mess doesn’t bother you as though it’s an
extension of yourself, and you don’t even notice it.
But nobody’s coming. It’s
just dirty. Will the thunder ever stop? Night
came about 4:30, but the thunder came about an hour before it.
The power flickers but never goes out.
It just flickers on and off and on and off.
© EXCEL
What do you want to do?
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