December 5th, 2002 - 10:17 a.m.

Have not a clue.

When the individual northern and southern points meet, auctioning off vision for a minute, the torrents of warm disorientating buzz from electronic cicadas and hornets, fastidiously nibbling away at their corner/cornea.

Parched; cold.

The multiplying corners; the unsteady sway between wall to ceiling.

There are solid pieces of wood, wrought with metallic nuclei and hot liquid iron cytoplasm, installed where the muscles ought to be, and were.

The internal organs seem to be quite pleased with their latest impression of sharp fingernails.

But can now discern between the beginning, middle, and the end. And so we recommence. On y va.

N.

�