storming

[fflo]

Too cold for open windows open, really. But I do this every so often. Oftener in Spring. Can't shut 'em. Can't do it.

Thunderstorm good.  Thunderstorm:  good.

Speaking of windows. I was suddenly at an open window to Takky Park tonight, for a coupla hours. By the old-fashioned means of landline. That window was a window of restful ease and magically thoughtless comfort. A surprise gift, with good timing. Spillover into now? Some, yes, I think, yes. Fading as I fade, deeper into the night, and let go to what darkness comes. It's really too cold for these literal windows to be open, and it's coming down hard out there. The kind of hard rain in which you can catch your death. The air off it is cold with wet-cold cold. Why I don't batton down and take cover, I don't know. Or even put some sleeves on. Under the featherdown should invite. But. It's like Drench me with the air of it, at the very bloody least.

In flurry of texting last night told friend am feeling urges toward the drastic. Not drastic as in offing self. Drastic otherwise, but (otherwise) unclear. I have to do something with this energy. Too much of it is skittering around in whatever feels like me, unable to go where it wants, nowhere else to go. And this great rain and this dark night are too cold for drenching in transformative soul-cleansing saturation, and living to tell the tale.

Maybe what's to do is to let go of living to tell the tale.

That river--- they changed the direction of the river in Chicago. How did they do that? Somebody tell me. In very simply expressed, clear step-by-step steps, adapted for the home version. Somebody tell me a. s. a. friggin' p., already.

'Cept I can't promise I'd do it if I could.

The rolling thunder makes long, long spells of crescendo - decrescendo - crescendo - decrescendo. Rumble. Roil. Cauldron bubble. Trouble trouble. Trouble.

Comments

[bigfinedaddy.livejournal.com]

That was a truly powerful thunderstorm. I felt so ridiculous, though, because after some debate, I still put my white noise machine on, as I do every night, to the sound of "Rain." The real rain couldn't be counted on to last until morning, when I need the sound to mask the activity of my early-morning-rising lesbian neighbor and her very beautiful dog. Plus the real rain wasn't as loud as I like my rain sounds, thank you very much. I'm very serious about engineering the ideal sleeping environment. But, please. I felt so ridiculously artificial.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

You know I envy your temple of bed and luscious sleep sanctification/ritual. But that musta felt pretty funny, indeed, turning on the fake rainforest with that wildness going on out there. I bet if you'd had your windows open it would have been loud enough.

[(Anonymous)]

Not only should the rain last all night but the dog should rise early and the lesbian be very beautiful.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

heavy sigh, heavy sigh

heavy, weighty, oblique transparent sigh

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

oblique transparent? a most admirable sigh that is. let me sigh along.

[fflo.livejournal.com]

let us sigh, then, you and I

for the lesbian, she is beautiful indeed

and next door

and not in the bed

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

why is the lesbian
not in bed
indeed
beautiful, next door
or any bed
indeed
she sighed along
you and i

[fflo.livejournal.com]

o, the lesbian,
if only she
sighed the sigh
of you and me

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

may is the cruellest month
or was it april
last year
and then it took
pity on us

[fflo.livejournal.com]

pity, how its pity
sends but don't deliver
the likes of punk rock
scholar, or other
catcher of fancy, free

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

indeed punk rock
historian remains to fancy
out of reach
much desired
for sympathy