power_failure raze three times the filthy white pedestal fan that sings me to sleep each night died. three times the scarlet numbers i turn to when i need to know how far the morning still has to travel to reach me went dark. the silence was too loud to dream in. the night too bright to make me blind. the wind a barbed recitation of half-forgotten prayers moving through the thin wires that hang above my head, carrying heat and light and the steady pulse of time. what would kill me if i touched it helps to keep me alive, just as long as i can cover up the sound it makes with my own frail music, breathing empty threats thick with dirt into the tired guts of twilight. 220218 ... epitome of incomprehensibility Last night in the storm, when I was taking Shiloh around the block, lights flickered strangely and went out. Then I heard three people in a driveway talking animatedly about something happening. It didn't seem like an emergency thing, though a vehicle with blinking caution lights had just passed. My mind conflated its blinking lights with the strange flicker, since anyway I was more focused on keeping pace with Shiloh. His doggish mood: frolicking. He loves snow. I caught a little bit of that spirit (as if putting on a cheery façade to match the mood of a child and then catching a bit of their excitement), though I was also just plain cold and wanted to hurry back. But when I got back to my parents' house, all the lights were off and I realized what had happened. My brother kept saying, "But it doesn't make sense that the power went out!" He wanted me to agree with him. I agreed with my parents, who thought it did make sense. The wind had died down some, but the snow was thick and wet. And I wasn't too bothered. It was past ten. Early to bed meant a cozy retreat, and the power would most likely be on in the morning. But I forgot, we all forgot, to switch the light switches down. A failure of our collective power, though we had lulled ourselves into a communal calmness. At 2:30 I woke up to TV noise. The downstairs storey blazed with day-like light. Grumbling, I headed down there and turned things off. Off, off, off. Shiloh, from the couch, seemed to be watching the detective show. Off. No, not you; I don't care if you're on the couch. Oh, okay, crawl into the corner. Good night. In bed. Can I sleep again? Eventually, but I only remembered tiny bits of dreams. 251111 what's it to you? who go blather from