Sabbaticals from discipline forced from rust. Thirty seven years of hard work to arrive at a week's vacation. Flashing an Alan Watts lecture heard a hundred times. The tiny epiphany and subsequent let-down on the heels of the Final Arrival. The music still plays, and the work remains. Somewhere in the background, unwritten words come closer to manifestation. Like an idea trapped on the tip of the tongue. Being a genius-- just for a few minutes-- before the brain passes the reins to the next idiot waiting in line behind the eyes.
11:08 p.m. - 2018-10-16
Recent entries:
Wrung Tongue - 2018-10-29
Freed Men - 2018-10-22
Chapter Climax - 2018-10-22
Of Cats - 2018-10-22
Evaporating Tide - 2018-10-16
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