2006-05-25 - 11:26 p.m.

It is interesting to observe what we do with our windows...especially those of us that live above the ground, stories away from an easy break.

In my bedroom I keep my blinds half up, the top part stays shut. My bed is positioned where my mattress top nestles right below the sill. A perfect fit. I lie on my belly, watching the girl in the building across from me, two stories below in what appears to be her study room, type on her computer, make notes, pet her marmalade cat, turn off her lights and walk into rooms that exist outside of my knowledge. I only have an idea of them. Her blinds are open but not raised. I think the young man that lives in the apartment to the left of her, is a bit of an exhibitionist. His room is his bedroom, whose blinds he leaves open, but not raised. I saw him two nights ago, naked as a jaybird, pulling a towel from his closet. From this distance he looked like a young Adonis, but then again, everything was a bit blurry. That which is strange is beautiful simply because you do not know it is not. That's not the lasting kind of beautiful though, the beautiful that you know IS, is what lasts.

There is the apartment in the building across from me, above the young god, where I randomly see young people outside on the balcony, smoking into the wee hours of the morning. It reminds me of when we used to stay up on speed or acid or ecstasy or coke or pills until the sun rose and we stopped time because we refused to sleep. Not that I'm saying that's what they're doing, it's just reminiscent. It's one of those activities that is simultaneously innocent and burdened with the heaviness of knowing too much. About everything.

The apartment above that, directly across from me, always has its blinds down and closed. They are a bit crooked, though, and you can see the back corner of a red couch and feathered strips of vegetation. In the other, what appears to be the corner of a black futon. Never seen a breath of activity or personality in those rooms, but the lights are always on. Always. I can't help but invent the possibilities that could result in this behaviour. Ah, speculation. It's what our fevered minds spin on day and night.

There are more windows, but I think that's enough to open for now. I hear a melatonin calling my name...

ulterior motives - fortune telling