Confess II · 30 April 2002
In the time after I stopped going to school there was sleep, a lot of sleep. Late at night – after Letterman – I wandered the open fields near our house, smoking cigarettes and thinking formless thoughts of fifty things at once. Turning scenes and conversation around and over, making tallies. Laughing. Then, eventually, I would sleep.
Through the mornings I would sleep ’til the sun came flouncing in the west-facing window. On a whim one day I affected minimalism, and removed everything from my bedroom except the futon and a small pile of clothes, and a window blind made of reeds. One morning each week there would be the sound of vacuums: housecleaners would bang the door, then move on.
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