Three Zero Eight am., lost in a forest of thought and
redwoods, no wolves, the occasionally wisp of wakefulness and owls. A terrible cavalcade,
a louder racket, of patterning emotion and memories made all the more beautiful
when garnished with familiarity. I should wake at dawn, one final concerted
effort and push to finish the project; a friend and I have been tasked. Utterly
understandable to him, utter nonsense to me. I feel like a mercenary tasked
with the rigors of self-responsibility and the eventual guaranteed payout, easy
job piece of cake, keep your head up, nose clean and gun cocked what could go
wrong, the money is being wired to my bank account as we speak. Can a price
actually be put on my meager contribution to the dharma, would the contribution
have been all that more meaningful had I left my studies with a robust understanding
of the material and a lifeless scowl instead of a head full of clouds and a
charming grin? These sound like questions that grownups struggle with,
grownups, it’s a funny idea, made all the funnier as I watch GIRLS; good show
HBO good show indeed. I should go to sleep, I’ve wasted grossly under a half
hour, eyes flickering looking to reboot, thoughts are running amuck a kerfuffle
in the making.
Play me out Dinosaur Jr.
