hail_storm birdmad yesterday morning time weilding the cold blade to kill the last clinging vestige of summer awaken to feel the slight chill in the room, sound of raindrops pattering softly on the rooftop and into the little puddles forming on the uneven terrain of the yard walk over and open the door, peering at the light shower through the mesh of the screen door turn some music on, low volume, a little charlie_parker, a little dead_can_dance eat a light breakfast lie back down and close my eyes, not sleeping but dreaming nonetheless, blissfuly aware of the sound outside a little idyllic daydream a little bit of melancholy and a little splash of memory and a flicker of a new dream listen a little while longer the rain picks up its pace and volume, now more like the sound of a running stream than a scattering of droplets laugh for a second, wish briefly and furtively for the cigarettes i gave up almost 7 months ago, let the craving pass, the music in the speakers reaches a crescendo but is drowned out by the sound of marble-sized bits of ice clattering off of all the sheet-metal in the junkyard next door the way i imagine it must sound in a ball-bearing factory when they drop the newly minted projectiles into bis to be sorted, weighed and counted sit up and open the blinds to watch the hail fall as i lounge on the sofa, turning up the music just slightly so i can still hear it mingled with the sound of the storm when the rain stops, i take a little nap, content with the chill and the dark sky and still a little bit sick from the illness that got passed around my office back into my dreams for a little while 021027 ... paste! The entire surface of the moon is covered with metal shavings twirling to the ballads of tigers. This alludes to our dance that is facing up to astronomical memory loss. Onto the soggy paper roof the owl perforates an image of its wing yanking out from a barbed wire sculpture of The Icelander, its final folly. 040506 what's it to you? who go blather from