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The small apartment smells

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Found poetry from a hyperfiction I created collaboratively with a bunch of friends back in 1998, called Collabor8, or 8: A Collaborative Hypernarrative Fiction

The small apartment smells a little from the windows being closed against the
humidity. I don't have any place to put the butts from the ashtray and I
really don't want to waste my time doing domestic things anyway. Time seems
too valuable for that. But the job of cleaning now has become overwhelming.
I hate living in an apartment and not on the road because messes remind me of
stagnation. I am stagnating and the garbage reminds me, the ashtray, and
the clothes I have to smell before wearing. This is wearing thin. My
writing is going just fine, but I am not following Eastern Daylight Time, but
Hawaiian Time. I have been away since bright and early at 2:30pm and shall go
to sleep in an hour or so, around 4:30am. Its certainly the typical hours for
work in downtown Honolulu. Maybe Los Angeles. Okay, LA, but I'll never
admit to having to do anything with that place.