tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62279492011-04-21T16:54:18.705-07:00Die In A FireGreghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comBlogger81100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1078560987026648982004-03-06T00:15:00.000-08:002004-03-06T00:25:19.200-08:00Add X, Divide by zero I guess it’s around three or four on a warm morning in late June and I’m smoking a joint with Marike out on the balcony twenty floors above the sidewalks of a city that’s beginning to fall asleep. There are unusually high winds for this time of night, but that’s fine with us because the Ecstasy we took at the H&H party is still pulsing with the wind. The winds are warm, Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1078560833506598132004-03-06T00:04:00.000-08:002004-03-07T17:01:33.450-08:00It is so cold here. We are standing by the water on a November afternoon long ago. The freezing wind and the graying sky hit. Everything begins to freeze but us; the water, the rubble and the skyscrapers in the distance. The city appears empty and barren, abandoned long ago because there are no lights, no heat coming from these stone hulks. Steel ships move down the river I know will freeze Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1078560213455216712004-03-05T23:58:00.000-08:002004-03-06T00:06:36.186-08:00The air is hot, damp and brown as we crest the highway overpass. We are leaving it where it lies; baking under the bloated orange sun. We are leaving the people that lie buried in its cemeteries and the people that stagger its streets. I look back and the tops of skyscrapers are obscure beneath this haze. The car feeds off its own hum and picks up speed. You hit the gas pedal but you can't go anyGreghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1078252132549915592004-03-02T10:27:00.000-08:002004-03-02T10:31:50.000-08:00I don't drown, I don't make the beach. The shark wins. That's how it ends. Fitting, I think. The shark knows me, he should be the one to do it.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1078177621731085932004-03-01T13:40:00.000-08:002004-03-01T13:49:57.936-08:00I've been in the ocean for years. I've been treading water and swimming like mad, alternately, for the entire time. I can never sleep or eat or stop. There is a shark, dark and ancient, huge and malevolent slicing through the water behind me. The shark and I have been playing this sick game since I got here and he's been gaining on me. I am not going to make the beach in time. This is not a Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1074318410452550092004-01-16T21:20:00.000-08:002004-01-17T07:15:11.623-08:00I'm holding a small ushapti from one of the Tombs Of The Nobles. It's close to 3,400 years old. As near as I can figure, it has someone's ka inside...their soul, or at least a piece of it. It was intended as a vessel for the soul and as a way of getting out of toiling in the afterlife. I promise to take good care of it. My imagination is on fire.Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1074012915199702692004-01-13T08:27:00.000-08:002004-01-13T08:57:04.843-08:00Ah. Winter. It's a game of hell. I'm house-sitting in East Baltimore, about 4 blocks from (one of) the houses I grew up in. Despite having been there for close to three weeks, I've only just now managed to walk across Patterson Park (The Little Park...Does anyone still call it that?) to dig the old stomping grounds. This isn't surprising since I've had this blog for a month and have only Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6227949.post-1071887257519059142003-12-19T18:23:00.000-08:002003-12-19T18:27:52.163-08:00Gone kids Beat grins Teeth as sharp as knives No wave Downbeat Stoned roses gunmetal eyes looking at empty gray skies Greghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09056935376307032004noreply@blogger.com