A good day, but stressful. Nearly all days are like this. Questing for baby breakthroughs in harsh grey static fuzz. Fighting against myself and time. These arbitrary requirements hold like concrete in my mind; they're air-thin delusions to the outside. I'm a Quixote in the self improvement age. Swinging at windmills in a blind fervor, weeping at the failures for tasks that don't exist outside the brain box. Such is the discourse. Such is the struggle. Each day brings with it the stipulations of a stoic shaman, deadpan and drenching in goat's blood, urgling out diatribes peppered with demands and congealed rancor. The vibrant red flecks of his annunciations freckle the dull landscape.
Blah blah blah. Dantesque horrors and the like.
I don't wish to comment. My revisiting makes me nauseous.
Today's Drawing (inspired by the word "Dread" from the prickle running down your neck.)
Today's "365" Project (Make something with popcorn, popped or not.)
"Sad Sad Poppy Man"
Blah blah blah. Dantesque horrors and the like.
I don't wish to comment. My revisiting makes me nauseous.
Haiku of the Day:
As daylight thickens
and snow ekes into the bay
my feet retake earth
Today's Drawing (inspired by the word "Dread" from the prickle running down your neck.)
Today's "365" Project (Make something with popcorn, popped or not.)
"Sad Sad Poppy Man"
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