Chloë Joan López
chlo'jo'lo'
Temple Rain Revisited

The rain is slowly melting this room away. I've built it of sugar and the rain is assimilating it thirstily. My song today is a song of longing for and lessons from the ocean, "History Repeats Itself," by Fay Lovsky.

I tried permeating the space surrounding 17th Boulevard but was only moderately succesful. The problem has been is that lately there hasn't been of my selfhood to permeate the space with. A man walking down the center aisle was smiling and I realized then how futile the whole attempt was if I couldn't even decide whether or not I wanted him to be smiling in my own cathedral. I gave up then.

Not quite then. I stopped when I heard the cry of an Ootetsu. These are truly awe-inspiring beasts, and perfectly impassive. They decide where to go and they go, often following in the footsteps of others of their kind who'd been there weeks or months earlier. Do they even know that we exist? Anyway, I hadn't seen one in a while, especially near my cathedral, so I went to look when I heard its lonesome cry. It was a pretty small one, and so cute! The largest of them I understand can be several miles long, but this one was only several hundred feet. I don't know. I see their huge eyes and smooth skin (I daren't touch) and I feel that we both know something of long journeys.