aggies and silver and chicken fried rice

i miss chicken fried rice. i had chinese tonight but it still wasn't 
chicken fried rice, it wasn't the heaping little gobs from shanghai that 
has served as the staple for many of my adventures as of late, at least 
these last few rooms... it's still hard to believe it's been over a year 
since the puckish knavish boy who sang to me in my dreams last night first 
saw me on that cinderella stage when i was wearing wooden shoes and 
pretending to be a queen, at least until the clock struck twelve. ding, 
dong, tick tock, hickory dickory. too many mice, they'll start carving off 
eachother's tails if we don't watch it. my lips are numb from breathing, 
and my head seems to be on fire though i don't know what with. i keep 
fumbling through the self-served anesthia, expecting to rouse myself from 
my slumber and go frolic at any moment, but it hasn't happened yet and i 
sometimes doubt it will on days like this...so much in my head. someone's 
been coming in my sleep and stuffing it full again, that weird blue-eyed 
dark haired man who was trying to sell me the world last night, and i kept 
looking at him squinting until he disappeared...don't understand. too many 
dreams, they rush through the turnstiles and tip everything over, 
including that big concrete ash tray in front of the library that crashed 
into my shin yesterday... tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...i never 
knew lestat liked hamlet, until i got older. i'm thirsty, but there's no 
money and no water and nothing worth grabbing the extra baggage and 
lugging around...i feel so painfully useless at times like this, like the 
postage stamp of little miss alice is just pasted across the world and is 
waiting for someone to shove her under until she drowns...it's not 
depression, it's futility, which is worse...at least there's energy in 
depression. at least depression gets something done, cleans something out, 
gets a huge broom and sweeps away all of the predicate participle phrases 
and becomes something neat on the edge of my tongue...but this, this just 
hangs, like an overdue sunrise, just dangling, just wanting to be pounced 
on, given inertia, put into motion, into sentences, and there's nothing, 
just a void, the vast emptiness of the distance from the earth to the sun, 
astronomical unit after astronomical unit until the space stretches across 
light years and finally bursts (after all, rubber bands will only go so 
far...) so the rest of my page, at least, is somewhat together and pieced 
up and stitched to glue... go look, go see, if you have any questions you 
need only to ask...if something's not right, say "hey wait a minute you 
are wrong" and maybe perchance that will kick me out of the infamous 
doldrums and get me off my feet (thinking's not allowed in the doldrums... 
neither is laughing...and breathing is only allowed on alternate tuesdays 
and thursdays...) i think the universe put aggies all over the ground to 
watch me slip...clumsy little alice girl, all bruised..even my chin 
hurts...the pumpkin king and i laughed too hard-- his head is rather much 
like stone when you come crashing into it, you know, as is the way of most 
skulls, i imagine, though i am not particularly in the habit of 
trying...the silver bird, now there's a story...it's a book, and it's me, 
and it wraps around me and teaches me colours and then i begin to remember 
those afternoons i spent flying when i was boy...and peter pan came and 
took my hand. little did he know that the lost girls and me, yeah, we had 
plans to come and take over and have our own little corner of neverland to 
play in...selfish little boys, always keeping all the toys to 
themselves...always said you had to be big to ride on ms. whittaker's bike 
or to go climb in ms. twiggly's treehouse, but they never knew how big i 
was until i broke the skin...though my chin (my shin) my grin might be 
paying for it now, i can be bigger than any of them, that's the beauty of 
derision...enough. when i remember the name of the lady who saw so clearly 
into my life and wrote a book about it without ever even knowing me, i'll 
let you know...of course, silly me, everyone knows a charlotte. some 
people just don't realize it. that's one of the neat things about being 
imaginary. you can show up whenever you want, and disappear when needed. 
you can be at two places at once, and, somehow, make everyone's dreams 
come true. or at least try really hard. until the west wind comes for you, 
anyways. then you just pick up your shoes and go. 

and they'll never know what hit them. but they'll keep trying.