diary

that he thought he was the shit was kind of hot. sure it was juvenile but so were they. frail children standing on the edge of the world about to fall off or in. and as they plunged he flailed aloofly. seemingly unaware of the ground. she bailed out and scraped a leg. he was quite seriously maimed. the jolt reverberated through the rest of his life. stagnant, angry, he blundered off into a slow and unremarkable oblivion.

 yesterday was lost for all time.  today i was tired, still. accumulated sleep debt.  at lunch i kept dozing in the chair. that is all. at least today is not lost for all time i guess.

brain like an anemone delicately reaching tendrils through dusky morning light and being trodden on by some wrong footed kid clamoring thru the rock pool. the kid is lack of sleep and also (relatedly) reversing into your coworker's car in the parking lot with everybody watching because you are running late. now half of your brain tendrils are squashed and you are also (relatedly) angry. you are alone now trying to do your job. a cardboard box in the breeze looks like a golden retriever rearing its head and is inexplicably terrifying. you reel around towards it and realise it's a cardboard box. this is what going mad must feel like you think. except maybe something a bit more terrifying and persistent. maybe this is how it begins. a portent. the golden retriever of cognitive decline...  

in the diffuse light of an overcast afternoon it looked almost metallic. almost like it didn't belong. wasn't a part of nature, of the swaying whispering trees, the frenetic birds chirping in repetitive waves. it moved silently with careless ease like a trickle of water down the middle of the path. dark and shiny. otherworldly. funny i had just been thinking about how here with no reception or first aid i didn't really know what to do for a snake bite. stay put? walk to the car? how long would i have? i waited. it lazily disappeared into a shadow. i continued my walk. 

humanity as an organism. people as synapses. memories are actions and repetition. people watching people watching people. copying, rejecting, synthesising actions. a great churn of repetition, cogs spinning cogs. identity seems static but is just the slow turning of the machine. in darkness we creep, commingle and experiment, a light shoots through and we scutter. sometimes one's caught and we annihilate them to annihilate the action.

paddling away from the carefully manicured picnic area and fake beach we round the bend and see the toppled skeleton of a tree in the water. a flock of birds launch at our unexpected intrusion their legs long and limp like dangling frogs as they beat their wings furiously. the sun light glitters off the murky depths like so many silent rain drops. as we journey on the brown clumps of algae with budding green heads breaking the the surface become thicker and more numerous until we are adrift in a field that slowly grows more stagnant and orange. it smells like something has died here, patches of water are dark like a film's negative.