Six AM with the ants still moving beneath our skin. Blue and green incandescent bulbs throw shadows with gauzy edges. I'm on the floor and looking up, up at the ceiling, my skull touches the carpet, the world clips, clips again.

I can make out their faces as they speak and comb through the memories. I'm a ghost on the floor, the impression of a form, the network through which communication flows and sputters and starts and stops.

(23 May 2007, 4:22PM)

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