JOURNAL (EXCERPT)

I.


The H, a gaudy and excessive letter, paddles the cattle of the sun. Their totemic bodies, constructed of songs you shouldn’t get high to, advance toward their subterranean home because I was anxious and went to sleep with my hair wet. Now there’s a constant flow of visitors: the nipple infinitely long, the mouth and its lost belongings. All these things are going, yeah, do this for me, and untended streams of revenue will learn to look me in the eye. But the nipple pierces one’s heart. The nipple of the Hanged Man, two ancient stones.

One, a wall of half disclosed doors. The bald one is closer to glass. One door keeps up all night caring in the open desert.

One is an interval that opens spaces within each thought and deletes those they are accustomed to hold between themselves. The air quality very poor next to these vehicles.

An arrow comes in through the window, being polite.

Don’t look anyone in the eye, the host’s place of rest. I covered my mirror and entered the party. Behind the wagons they’re saying nice things about me, a sumptuous carafe.

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from journal–published by The Creative Writing Department

Buy it here

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By Tamas Panitz 👍