dead_water sylvia plath my drink was wet and depressing. each time i took another sip it tasted more and more like dead water. around the middle of the glass there was painted a pink lasso with yellow polka dots. i drank to about an inch below the lasso and waited a bit, and when i went to take another sip, the drink was up to lasso-level again. 020903 ... unhinged beneath all the stagnation there is something waiting to grow with little wings sucking blood. invisible to the naked eye, seething. i set my eyes like dead_water. 020903 ... reitoei we had the funeral today. the coffin leaked, punctuating the sermon with the plop of oozing fluid. the priest went on and on. i was afraid there wouldnt be anything left to bury by the time it was over, just a drying spot on the warm concrete. we looked upon the dead water once more, our mortal, but still breathing, faces mirrored on its body, gently distorted, each of us saw our own funeral, ourselves lying in that box, a reminder of what will soon beomce of us. 020903 ... Elzbieta Breeds mosquitos 020904 ... unhinged in the dead water anger grows where it stops nobody knows i used to be tired from being sad now i pass out from being angry 050626 what's it to you? who go blather from