less wise, more puffy

listening to: devendra
drinking: ayurvedic tea
above: albrecht duhrer's owl engraving, which i did not know hung on our wall

i have gauze wrapped around my head to hold the ice-packs to my cheeks (you can call me alvin). the insertion of the sleep-milk stung on the way up my arm, a bitterly familiar burn. the empty holes in my mouth are full of spiky iron nuggets that swell in fluctuations. S was here waiting for me; he read me stories that i cannot remember, and knew i wouldn't at the time. it was just a passing of time, a verbal forehead-rub.

"we care about you, harriet. i hope you know that." that was the time that my sadness became the sadness of the room, which i would like to write more about, some other time.

yesterday i spent the morning at the drake hotel. brunch, monk's blend tea, memorizing lines. another S and i walked down unexplored pockets of queen west and looked at another empty hole behind the art supply store: a new home, soon. i bought a plaid flannel shirt so i would not forget the day.