Tuesday, Dec. 17, 2002, 1:29 AM

Title not included

I am no good tonight, spent like a used tube of toothpaste. All of the functionality has been squeezed out of my head and I am left feeling flat. It has been two months to the day today since I found out about her affair and today she was served with divorce papers and in another 90 days we will be divorced. I am free, in a manner of speaking. Like Janice Joplin said, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."

Sonic vibrations transmitted through wax paper to my elastic eardrums stretched tight like a man on a rack. Torturous are the sounds beating back the memories of happier days, better times and warm bodies at night. Pouring down my throat is the juice of a living fruit squeezed and compressed beyond breaking and yielding its fluids intended to nurture the ensconced seeds after decay to ensure germination and renewed life. It does not germinate, but it does subdue the painful thirst stabbing at the back of throat. I am a speck floating in a sandstorm. One of billions or trillions doomed to a fate decided by the wind's whimsy. Or worse yet, a neutrino falling forever through space and matter, so small as to be undetected and undetectable. Never knowing another celestial body. Never realizing the caress of another heavenly touch. Always passing by unnoticed at high rates of speed. That is the sound of sorrow, stabbing at my silence and piercing my meditation upon the cherry blossoms of happiness that rain down like a peaceful snow of seasons past and gone. With no worshippers at the temple of my body I have fallen into disrepair, a prisoner of neglect with an embattled psyche. I am Odysseus who has lost his way, never to return. I am Penelope doomed to endure forever the rising of the sun without the rising of hope, silently unraveling my spirit with my shawl. I am Hamlet just before death when all has been slain or lost but never feeling the release of the ebbing of my life. I am the ant beneath the magnifying glass on an overcast day at the boiling point without igniting. I am, I think. Therefore cognition denotes and belies existence. Be lies all we have, then be faith at the nunnery of truth bound and gagged with desire where all the white horses run aground on the shoals temptation. And with that I despair no longer. Goodnight.