I can’t help but feel you are supposed to know what you are doing by now, at my age. Not that I believe it as much as entertain the notion. It’s relatable right? Like being scared of the dark.

A feeble old man making his morning rounds looked me right in the eye and said, “You have a good day today.” I only jay walked because he did, first.

Regardless of taste, most people want to be esteemed enough to add some ingredient into a grand recipe. It’s value determined by how many people devour, regardless of taste.

From this fixin, we can have a existential logic: “I am the one that adds pepper to the cosmogony.”

I do not mean to devalue anyones modus operandi. In a lot of ways, if not all ways, I would rather be of the flux rather than note it’s



The trick is being demonstrably real, I think. Being that can be inferred by syntax and translated by those in proximity–actions that bring value to those you deem of value, I think that’s how governing recipes arise in this life.

Dreams that are able to be communicated; Impossibles able to be conspired against.

The guy next to me on BART has a “blow the whistle” ring tone. He’s sleeping through it. Little bit of a non sequitur. Thought I’d come up for air.

Eventually I am going to fall in love, if not already, if not in this instant, if not in all instances, if not forever. I know that much. I know there are beautiful things, beautiful people that are going to demand my heart.

Am I ready? Dear God, I hope so.

But the trick is being demonstrably real, to build metaphor with your immediacy. I have to be in the room. I have to speak the native tongue. I have to know the limitations of it all, even my conceptions,and make use of them.

Otherwise I’m just an imposter.

It’s eight o’ one. A bell in some clock just tolled. That’s as good as a sign that this message is over as any. Thanks, world. Thank you.


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