you can't pause and you can't take a break. there is a rest in music and in cinema. in books there are places where nothing much happens. the dog can wait and you can wait but not for god. someone can't wait for you either. it's true it's now or never even when it's now and never. 
this morning i saw a hole in the kitchen window i never noticed before, where the wind blew off my collage that was screening the view. i put a wooden buddha there that i was tempted to throw out because his upraised hands had broken fingers, but i put a glow-in-the-dark dog ball in them like he's holding up the moon and you can't see his broken fingers, but this morning i saw a hole behind his head. i wondered if it was there before. where was the broken glass? i thought again how this place i filled up is disintegrating around me. i thought how this place is the place a suicide left behind. that's how if not why i'm in this place. i didn't escape (yet?). i'm not a suicide but i'm undeniably in a suicide's place. i've taken the space of a suicide. my cousin thought he made his exit this place. he didn't leave from this place, or leave his body here. yet still it was his place. i don't feel him haunting this place. he died in another place. it's me now who haunts this place. every place you live someone must have died. unless you get to build your own place, which i never could. i never had the gumption and the wherewithal. i never had the entitlement. i existed but i did not know how to inhabit a human space. i could only fill a pre-existing space, a space that was left, not particularly for me. i always wondered what i'm doing here. i've always been anxious even as a kid. as a kid i had a neighbor who sleepwalked and woke up at the bottom of the stairs. another neighbor had a monster under his bed. i don't recall having a monster. it was me behind the bed, in the space i made behind the headboard. in bed i used to stare at the wood pattern and see a face turn into a path that led into the wood i stared wandering in that stilled place for hours.
when i was a kid i was afraid of everything except of animals i was fearless. i was afraid of humans. i still am afraid of everything, everything represents everything else but me i'm the fear that connects everything to nothing. everything i'm afraid of is me the talk therapist would say or think.
in this place everything will continue to disintegrate around me and it's not my place, but it's very cheap and i can inhabit the place, like a ghost in a vacant shell. the windows will continue to crack and fall, the power will go on and off, the clock will flash 12, the hot water will not rise, my hair will grow, my head will itch, and i will burn the sage.