Impulse and Impulse ContrOL

I'm huddled unceremoniously at the cold computer in my parent's home, rounding up my shoulders trying to reach the keyboard which seems about seven inches too high. Tom Waits is singing about how my body will decompose to the score of atonal drums and saws. My oldest brother is walking through the door. Incense is burning. Water is heating for a pot of tea.

It's been several days since I've been able to post any writing. Work is too busy. Internet is hard to find on the weekend. I don't know what I'm learning, but I'm learning it.

The lake outside the window is frozen in big, cracking sheets which sometimes groan and shift. Geese come and go, speaking of Michaelangelo. The light of the sky goes from grey to black. The lights in the parking lot shine a stunted orange. The cat is using his best green eyes to stare at me.