3:11 pm | 21 May 2003 | synchronicity

Something is up today. I got a voicemail without the phone ringing. My MSN Messenger refuses stubbornly to tell me when I�ve got a new e-mail--indeed, the front page of my Hotmail is silent on the subject, but upon going to the Inbox, I see I�ve got three. And now my Diaryland buddy list is being pouty and periwinkle, not turning red to alert me that you-all are writing, are doing something to distract me from another monotonous day--what does this augur, all these messages without warning, all this lack of notice? Someone told me this morning to read Jim Carroll, and then lightfallsup�s diary quotes him. I feel fear: deep, deep fear. I feel like I�m late for my own surprise birthday party, but you bitches KNOW I ain�t no Taurus (shudder)--my birthday�s not for months and months yet. I hate this feeling, as I hate most surprises, especially the kind where people jump out of wherever, laughing when I start with fear and then pass out. I always demand to know all plans in detail beforehand, because of this pathological need to be totally on top of everything that�s afoot. So, GOD, what�s going on? TELL ME WHAT�S GOING ON! clm.

Here, take this too.

It might�ve been just a stumble or
it could have been a half-heard suppli-
cation to someone I suspected
wasn�t even listening � someone
who doesn�t even have ears, in the
conventional sense�but neverthe-
less stumbling against the black foot
of the bed hoping my ass wasn�t
too white and if it was jiggling,
please let it be jiggling in the
hot J. Lo way, and not the Jell-O
geriatric way, please� But any-
way, there was something orchestrating
the fall, some mechanism in mo-
tion, whether someone else delivered
me into it or whether I was
marked all along, some strange invisi-
ble score, the kind planted by someone
with no use for eyes (not in the con-
ventional sense)�but at any rate
I stumbled there, gracelessly, and fell
back into bed, where I tried to ex-
plain a painting to you, the meaning
of which I wasn�t sure myself, though
I painted it, but I did so with
no attention to meaning or pro-
phecy, at least (in hindsight) I hope
not. But anyhow I think about
the terms of falling and still try to
rationalize, the way I explain
everything while silently praying
it�s true, or at least close enough to
pass for the truth or convince someone
who�ll never know better; in any
case I stumbled, I fell, I have no
explanation, and all along I�m
thinking if I were really modern
I wouldn�t need an explanation
and the simple stumble itself would
be enough, oh sure, oh sure, oh sure.