"wrongfully i rested"

i have listened to a solitary cd innumerably for a week now. a scathing, soothing, invariable repitition: bordering dementia it would appear. turn it back on again and again and again and again and again but it's perfectly rational, for me
sometimes i simply like to know what is coming

sleep

I love sweeping. I think sweeping is one of the gentlest things a person can do. Whenever I’m at a place like a restaurant or the stage of a theater and I see someone in a uniform with a broom, and when I watch their backwards and their forwards, the progressions and the regressions, the opposites that make up the swaying at their elbows, I fall a little in love, especially if they are meticulous. That means they can maybe love somebody who is alive, even if it’s not me. And maybe they already do, at home, or a stranger they see everyday on the street; maybe they are already very meticulously in love. I am not equating sweeping to love: that is too obvious. And if somehow I am, well I don’t mean to be doing it.

lullaby

every thing is clean and lovely and soft around me, everyone is getting along, no one is fighting, no one is yelling, we are all clean and content. i have no particular sadness of my own in me at this moment, this day; there is only the sadness of other people, which doesn't belong to me, so do i have a right to take it from them? i don't really know. i am happily sleepy and i am going to bed and i am hoping to God that it rains again tomorrow.