September 9th, 2005


plural of apocalypse

Last night I read the first-hand account of the San Francisco EMS workers trapped in New Orleans. A number of people linked to this. The wretched offensiveness of what they went through made me cry. I feel humanly connected to what happened, after all my rigid emotional avoidance. I cried until I could barely breathe and went to bed at nine o'clock and had an apocalyptic dream. I didn't take the time to write it as narrative; these are just notes. No especial need to read this; this is one of those times when I'm using my journal more or less as a diary, but unlocked, because then my words are also communication to the outside world.

<rhetorical>Why do I always end up sounding so stuffy and pretentious when I get meditative? Now I want to play the court jester and caper and jingle to deflate my prose.</rhetorical>

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