it's hard to d e a l when all you do is f e e l

(4 | calico d r e a m s)

Subject:	vanilla coke and electrolyte stew
Time:	7:21 am.
Music:	Bullet the Blue Sky__U2.

It's thunder that gives me hope. Something about an electrical storm sends messages to the very primitive within us. Have you ever watched a man walk across a parkinglot in a storm--he's trying to continue on in his mediocre, normal existence but is unsettled. He is put on edge by the dark, the trees coming to life, their limbs swaying to and fro, by the sky's sudden voice cracking in the distance. That voice, the sound of a being once so silent haunts us in our dreams. Even in our cars with out cellular phones, in our comfortable living separated from nature, something in a storm tells us to run for cover, to forget our superiority and cower with the dogs, to pace with the lions, to howl with the wolves. IF you sit and watch a storm for long enough, pretty soon you can feel it under your skin. The lightening is a pacemaker, your hearbeats become jumbled.

I'm sitting outside a grocery store on the edge of a nameless stretch of suburbs watching a parkinglot empty. The rain replaces sounds of engines. I watch as the cashiers gather toward the window. A single shopping cart is slowly pushed before me by an invisible force and I'm alone but so unlonely. People begin to move and gather once more, giant printed umbrellas their single defense and as though the clouds have eyes, the storm becomes more desparate and fierce. ANd ambulence sounds in the background. Within a few minutes the rain has won control again and again I am alone. The parkinglot becomes flooded and the produce boy, tall and lanky with hollow cheeks, walks outside to light a cigarette, standing just beneath the rafters. Although we don't say anything to each other, don't even make eye contat, we are connected by an innate fascination; an interest that, judging by the empty asphalt field before me, not many share.

and if you comment to tell me how many words I misspelled__I will kill you.

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