Ill-lit discontinuities, resentments in rusty places harboured, until mouths become barnacled shut and eroded away by bits of green glass bottles, broken and glinting in words that shine like you've never heard them shine before. Walking and talking on no sleep no wake and by noon I'm already tattered a hundred times over, unaware and apathetic about stars beyond the galaxies bordering my mind, hemming it in. Dicing together my fragmentary thoughts on the fridge door. When I play guitar, it creaks like it's dying and I start crying. Friends I've made like J are one man miracles, one man crime waves turned to new leaves of sweet potato plants crawling around the corners of the ceiling. Flash in the pan people, and I wonder if I'm one of them. We wonder about one another how long we'll be there for. We re not meant to be here anyway, and we are both capable of being so happy and so sad all at once, that there is no space for emptiness, and that's a lovely consolation when you feel like a ghost. Only J is being reborn, blushing and comparing himself to a fourteen year old and aching face from smiling, and I am ageing, trying to pull off the grown-up shoes and walking with a limp, as I invariably will, no matter how far I walk in them, for I'm out of step all the time.
In other news,
multiple regression analysis
repeated measures analyses of variance
polythogonal and orthogonal variables- contrast codes, the Helmert coding, the Tukey HSD
sphericity
