Teeth on teeth and candles on.

There was not much left to be said yesterday, when I held on tight to my chair in the apartment with three candles on. One of the dead, one for the living, one for those who are somewhere in between. It was all saints night, the serious family holiday on which masses of Polish people pretty much set cemeteries on fire, in a civilized way of course. I had had a day on which much too much coffee had made it through my body and it had left far too much caffeine for me to even be able to attempt to grasp one of the thought that were racing through my skull like very angry spirits. And i sat at that drawing table in the other room and i pulled out a green pen and some pieces of paper and after about 15 seconds or so it was completely clear that this was not the right time and not the right person and not the right thing to be happening at this particular place in space and time. And so i pressed myself between the pillows, and i tried and tried and tried to sleep. And it eventually worked. It worked quite well actually. Finally. Damn. Should I have walked over to the cemetery last night? Should I have jumped the fence perhaps? Maybe position myself somewhere in the center of the "private" burial ground in Prospect Park? What was i supposed to do? This morning did not provide any answers. None. Tonight I am going to look for more clues. And I will also get back to that drawing board. And the light table. And probably also this place here where virtual tumble weeds begin to accumulate at the few key words worth looking for.