28 April 2005


Quarter to four inside a dream about someone I no longer know. I am following her through an odd cityscape. There are multi-level concourses that all at once look like furniture showrooms, offices, parking garages and black, rain soaked streets. She is always two steps ahead smiling back at me over her shoulder. I wake up from this dream feeling slightly ill. I shuffle to the bathroom and there is a taste of rust at the back of my mouth. I clear my throat into a tissue staining it deep scarlet. Am half asleep staring at the dark blood. There is a waxing shock that something must be very wrong. Am bleeding to death. Spin to look into the mirror and there is blood streaked across my cheek. Back to my bedroom and my pillow case is dyed crimson. It's only nosebleed, but for a moment in the sleepy confusion of 4AM it is a stark reminder of one's fragile mortality; of everything that is out of place, out of order. Four AM and I sit upright and pinch my nose and think about all the loose ends that plague my life and my dreams; so many unruly loose ends gone completely haywire that need to be tied down. Or cut off. Outside the window, a pre-dawn chorus of spring songbirds is slowly gaining volume.

Today: a train, a string quartet, urbane high society, free liquor and a haunted cityscape hopelessly entangled with loose ends. Am hoping this damn nosebleed does not return.

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