JULY 29, 2007
I can’t get past the first line. The second line is like a mile away, and the third line hasn’t been conceived of. A frenzy of words with no meaning, as random as the condensing vapor whipping clouds of various shapes and sizes, like the state of my mind for the moment. I caught the “busy disease” lately, just like everyone else working a stressful environment. My antibodies are still working on a counter, and until then I always feel a shortage of time. Time to do the things I want to do. At least it’s better than a bowling pin’s situation, being knocked up all day until the bowler’s content. Bruised and beaten it stands up with a little help from the Autobot’s descendant. I am looking at a full moon outside my window, it’s halo hypnotic pumping tides of blood. I demand from this day forward to change the name of sunny side up eggs to “full moon eggs,” because the full moon resembles it better than the sun. We like pleasure, that’s why everything that derives the opposite is dreadful to our senses.