8:35) chris abraham 05-JAN-98 8:48

I walked along the yawning streets. Wearing a tweed sportscoat, kakhi trousers, and a yellow tie, I moved towards the train without needing an overcoat. They say its to be 70 degrees today in Washington. In my life, dead soldiers refer to the paper cups which are beginning to collect on my desk. In my office. The sky is clear and there is the notable warmth. El nino. The Child. I smelled vomit in many places and am wondering if it is me. Am I decaying? The black children stand near their intermediate school on Pennsylvania Avenue, SE, near the Eastern Market. The low morning sun paints their smooth skin yellow. I envy that yellow. My face will always looks jaundiced under that light. Their faces, golden. It takes evening light, the light from a red orange sunset to paint the white face gold.

The funny thing about the group Radiohead is that whenever I have an epiphany (for the past two years), there is some semblance of their album "The Bends" playing.

Especially that song I insisted on transcribing from the live broadcast on 99.1FM, "Just Passing Through."

"two jumps in a week i bet you think that'[s pretty clever don't you boy/ flying on your motorcycle watching all the ground beneath you drop/ you kill yourself for recognition you kill yourself to never ever stop/ you broke another you are turning into something you are not/ don't leave me high don't leave me dry/ don't leave me high don't leave me dry. drying up n conersation you will be the one who cannot talk/ when all your insodes fall to pices you just sit and wish you could still make love/ they're the ones who hate you..."

When I was younger and was first initiated into magic, I really needed a level of guidance my friends in college couldn't provide. As a diver, all my metaphor revolved around the sea. When I plunged deep into the depths of my mind and my not mind, I would swim energetically as deep as I could and the quicker the better.

Sometimes, I would be abandoned at that depth. I would get spooked and would kick off the floor (or rather, merely a ridge -- I don't think anybody has really plumbed it truth depth) and shoot like a missle towards the glimmering dapple of the clouds.

I would feel the bends. I would feel as thought the pressure inside me and the surrounding environment were imbalanced. I could feel the fizz in my blood, an opened bottle of seltzer.

I would panic. I would realise there were only minutes until the air would form bubbles large enough to block a vein, to traumatize my brain.

It was times like these I would really unsderstand what panic was, what vulnerability could be.