2003-05-19 6:33 p.m.
soul monkey's got his eye on you

Anyone walking by my desk here at The Law Firm will get an odd sight, the sight I always become when I'm writing in my journal and have fierce fierce beats coursing through my brain, my veins, my tongue, the back of my eyes...

when I write like this I try not to look at the screen, try not to feed the words but bleed them forth.

Tonight, I'm hoping to end it...the comic. One more scene to rewrite and then I feel like winding up my little baby and letting her go, even if I'm not sure if she's going to swim, fly, or run and hide.

I remember listening to drum'n'bass in my white, white bedroom in the apartment with Stephen, rocking back and forth in the dark, hammering my keyboard, feeling prowled by my words, sneaking up on some poor soul whose only mistake had been to get written into one of my stories: the bully in "candy" who was rushed to the hospital with fierce bites taken out of his neck and hands, the stepfather in the "the high plains" whose little sadistic fantasy life with his stepdaughter is over, Juana giving up her baby for a gift certificate to the toy store. Maybe I'll brush her life off, hold her up to the light, and finish her off for the IM contest.

Maybe I'll leave her out all alone and see what the passersby think.

I'm out.

Don't look for the monkey in the trees; he's knows you're watchin'.