Taken on photobooth. I am exhausted and must begin my longest day of the week. The sun is already plumpin' the day to come. Roast turkey, roast.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Day 4 starts early
Taken on photobooth. I am exhausted and must begin my longest day of the week. The sun is already plumpin' the day to come. Roast turkey, roast.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
day 3
Photo taken by Andres Justiniano January 30th 2011
Today I feel sick and it is sunny outside and I am going to watch Hostel Part 2 with Tamren and it is Sunday so I cleaned Hal's tank.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
365 photos
Today I begin with my photo a day project.
Its not a terribly wonderful photo but thats not really what I am going for.
Not sure what I am going for, maybe just some consistency and a way to track my mood/health blah blah as the year goes on.
So today is the 28th of January 2011. Here we go.
Friday, January 14, 2011
His other life
he wears a silk shirt on Sundays, he prays with his eyes open. and no one knows that he is devout. the finger nails are long, they scrape back skin cells, they scrape back folds. in the night he screams into his pillow. only sometimes. only when his wife slumbers, heavy, hard. hes bleeding beneath his socks, under the ankle line. he is bleeding in his shoes and his heart is pumping useless. no one knows how devout he is.
thunder, the wigs are on fire, the cheese ate itself, the wind is pregnant with his spit, his words, his tantrums. he slips into the bathroom and stares out the window. the night is cold, the glass is frozen, he sits on his haunches now and he breathes through his mouth, he breathes through his mouth so that his breath is hot and melts the frost and then it freezes again and he begins again.
the wife never leaves the house, she spends her time dusting one room out of twelve. she spends her nights pretending to sleep. her husband lies, she knows, he lies about walking the dog, who sits meek and lumpy, who eats too much. he lies about his emotions, she knows. she knows that one day he will leave her, and she knows that the day he does she will step outside for the first time since she was thirty-two.
thunder, the wigs are on fire, the cheese ate itself, the wind is pregnant with his spit, his words, his tantrums. he slips into the bathroom and stares out the window. the night is cold, the glass is frozen, he sits on his haunches now and he breathes through his mouth, he breathes through his mouth so that his breath is hot and melts the frost and then it freezes again and he begins again.
the wife never leaves the house, she spends her time dusting one room out of twelve. she spends her nights pretending to sleep. her husband lies, she knows, he lies about walking the dog, who sits meek and lumpy, who eats too much. he lies about his emotions, she knows. she knows that one day he will leave her, and she knows that the day he does she will step outside for the first time since she was thirty-two.
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