The Corduroy Mtn. The Hole Tomas Weber 3/11/19- N., dear, I want to change shape and go inside the hole. I do not know for sure what the hole is about. It was made after the wall was made. That is all I know for sure about the hole. 4/11/19- N., dear, there's something really dangerous about this hole that is a certain measurable distance around the rim. The hole looks like it has started growing, and maybe changing shape. The hole will remain a hole, unless it gets filled in with chemicals that don't yet happen here. I need a flask of something chemical. I will ask O to bring over the chemicals when O comes over tomorrow. 5/11/19- N., dear, I do not currently enjoy being surrounded by things that will become corpses. My skin could burn away in the same way that anything else could burn away. I thought I knew that. It's like, everything is about either love or murder and I am about neither. I am a figure of heavy industry and chemical experiment. I work hard and blow-up. I can hear chord sequences coming from inside the hole. Somebody is playing chord sequences inside the hole. 6/11/19- N., dear, in this place, potential industrial landscapes are everywhere. It's so beautiful to look out on them at night from a place that's high up. Sweeping vistas onto potential industrial landscapes are what I want. I want you as well and not just because you make the whole thing so dark you get up in front of me. Climb up high to see lots of dark happening all at once. Use binoculars to see it better. I blew the candle out because it was a thing and itching me. The chords are possibly in D minor. The chords are possibly killing me. Killing me like I am going to die or turn into machinery. I know I am a potential industrial landscape. I've been thinking about this. 7/11/19- N., dear, it feels like there's something really dangerous that's near me. A hole in the wall is near me. The hole is small. I can reach up and touch the hole. I can stroke it around the rim with my little finger and I don't have to look because I know it. Stroking the edge of the hole causes little bits of the wall to fall off. The hole doesn't lead to anywhere except to a place that is a potential industrial landscape. 8/11/19- N., dear, as of today, there are no things in my room that are the right size to fit inside the hole. The hole may be growing, and changing shape. I have been thinking about the hole. I know now that the hole is the safest place in the room. The room that is a potential industrial landscape. Still, chemicals are not the things that happen here. Right now, chemicals are the things that happen elsewhere. Still, I am somewhere between a potential industrial landscape and a potentially brutal fucking murder. 9/11/19- N., dear, I am freaked out when people live in their cars. If you told me you lived in your car it would change everything. I want you to tell me if you live in your car. Nothing will change. I'm sorry. I wish you were still happening here like you were an hour ago. Why do you happen sometimes and then turn off and disappear and leave me here alone with the hole. I want you to lie here forever and be still and breathing a little so that I can put a large calendar over your face like a veil and punch the calendar. You are an event that I can't predict. An occasion. I want to cover the hole in the wall with the calendar, hang it up. The calendar is broken. 10/11/19- N., dear, right now I am feeling what I usually feel when I think about you. I am thinking about you. I can see that now. I am looking into the hole in the wall and thinking of you. It sounds like chords are coming out of the hole. There's something really dangerous and unknown about thinking of you with this strange chord sequence running underneath. These strange chords that could be just single notes. These chords that are like all the beautiful murderers that I grew up with. Why did the fact that I've seen one broken body seem to interest you. If I get too warm my blood will burn through my skin and spill out over the floor, fizzy and boiling. Is it true what you said, that blood is blue when it's inside you and red when it spills out of you. I feel if this were true that it would change just about everything. Nothing will change. I am an unopened can of blue blood. A flask. Nothing will change. previous | next Added to The Corduroy Mtn. on January the twenty third in the year two thousand and nine.