"Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning" with Yen and TJ was fun, never shouted like that in a cinema my entire life. It's amazing what some plain old gore can do to your system. I've never cussed that much either. Back at the green place, TJ-less and Vera-more(?), I splattered my story again to Yen. Going home, I felt vulnerable. Maybe it was the movie, if not, some other subconscious malady manifesting symptoms in its expected hour. The doors appear to be shut. There are no other openings. The air is gray, so is everything else. I find that when I do a cartwheel, some color falls out of me, resting on the gray background like faint multi-colored little midnight stars against one side of the universe. I did one, you know.. just one.. about half an hour ago, and remembered doing it on the covered walk with the street paintings. That was three years ago. I remembered the other boy who saw me, who grinned, face-down. The cartwheel happens when I catch myself happening and a cartwheel has always been a good thing. It's been a long time since I did one. It's 2:50 in the morning. I will sleep knowing a cartwheel was done. Super Perfundo on the early eve of your day.
