everything_is_noise raze after having half the sleep that should have been mine stolen by low_flying_planes and shit stains who feed their flabby muscle cars a steady diet of fast_food, after the boredom barking of derelict dogs slicing through the ceaseless whine of the only machine i can count on to keep me cool, after the sting of steel whaling on warped wood and the ear-splitting screams of swimming siblings — after all of this, i watch a woman clothed in familiar fluorescent fabric carry a grass trimmer like a sleeping child down kildare road. she trains her surest finger on the trigger, joining the others who live here in wounding the world with noise as part of some sad stab at creating the illusion that something is being accomplished, when all she's shearing is air. 250617 ... epitome of incomprehensibility This is how I felt at 4 AM this morning. I hadn't slept that long when I was wrenched out of sleep by an argumentative bird ranting close to my window. It wasn't birdsong to be at that point, just bird noise. Everything was noise if it kept me awake. I closed my window on the town crier, preferring to suffer stuffiness over that racket. 250617 ... e_o_i *birdsong to me (although I didn't "be" birdsong either, true) 250617 what's it to you? who go blather from