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12:34 a.m. 2009-09-29

Hobbling in an aimless shamble through the snowdrifts and gray smeared fog encasing this city in an isolated gloom that makes the streets into fragile twisting rivers frozen and colorless, that turns the shrouded unseen peaks of our proud buildings into morose, mangled pointless islands- fruitless, despairing. We are the center of the world, and the world is a great gloomy uterine pit, damp cold, useless. They creep along the cracked and callus sidewalks, eyes pinked and runny, looking as though they were all suddenly startled from weeping by some sight too alien, too perplexing to comprehend. The sounds cut in expanding hollow ripples through the haze, a harsh blare, a distant crack and they cringe gently as though expecting it, welcoming the dread and imagining the terrible occurings somewhere close and unseen. They huddle in groups, afraid to be alone. They fuck with the TV on, listening to the voices and dissecting the pixels on the newscaster’s face. I have forgotten the we and I find that in knowing myself I am cut off more completely and they stare unguilty at the screens long after they have stopped listening to the words. They go through the motions as I find myself going through the motions, them pretending at love while I kill the time and I can’t find it to hate them anymore, but I still shudder. At myself. Winter is coming, icy sheaths over muderous pricks creeping over the plains and the Rocky Mountains, eyes like slits and a breeze to make a mockery of summer. We must find a way to keep warm, and the bugs have been crawling more urgently into my house whenever I open the door. Winter is coming.

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly