intergalactic_railroad lycanthrope the peak experiences a quickening in light in my eyes the way a whole spring guilds in a raindrop the phone in another house an endless mysterious ringing the phone's always for someone else. Even when they say my name. The strange screeching of a hundred night owls a sound that would be alarming if we hadn't chosen it. in the distance is music, music always playing for someone else and what do they hear from me? a festival i don't understand, even when they invite me, even when they ask me to procede. sometimes you are lucky, or just circumstanced and you are with a star when it dies, all lights are stars from a distance. Elsewhere a light is pitched out of a river of a belt,a point finally reaches darkness, but they cannot explain nor can you you are too close. You cannot see what was lost nor can they. a train with empty seats, all empty except for yours the light swings back and forth, flickering erratically for you alone perhaps? yet it seems to mind you not, for when you go to set your eyes on what is ahead, on the driver? is there a driver? it flickers to darkness again and the path diminishes to the immediate, an empty seat ahead of you around you, shadows given life, given your mind, stealing in like ghosts. mysterious satellites pass by and make startling sounds rebounding off the solidness firmly out of your grasp. and in my dreams my father is an archaeologist and his assitants and him are always doing the same things. They'll say lo, i've found something novel, and he'll say no no, stick to the same old things, we've got to keep at it like this, like music played on a wound up flute. And he always finds the things i can only have faith in if someone else says. Those other dependant things like 3am. If you're not here, you're there, and you're a theif perhaps. But I always catch you from the corner of my eye, and square to you, whenever i can. I take deep breaths of air millions of years old which crumbles if i try to hold it too long in my lungs like when i'm feeling classical. occasionaly Empirically i have nothing to say to you, though it would seem i am saying something. Waiting for what? the phone to ring, and the answers to come? Always waiting for someone else's answers, towing your line like one of the feebles at the end of jeopardy who suddenly realizes they don't belong, but sheepishly presents their availability as the music fades and they light up. Hello? Who is it? 020515 ... Tildan love it. strange_news_from_another_star 020515 ... lycanthrope thanks and for the link...thanks...that's a nice page itself. They're all connected. I love trains...and the constellations look like rails sometimes. and yay for the levels of disconnection and reconnection, self and other in strange new from another star. Hot ice and cold fire... 020515 ... Tildan I love trains. OR do I hate them? They bring out weird feelings, anyway. Any speedling landscape does, I guess, but something about trains. travel 020516 ... whitechocolatewalrus [when this is over when it's over it's alright it's alright] i'm spinning spinning and i don't know when everything will stop 040727 what's it to you? who go blather from