“Men need some kind of external activity, because they are active within. Contrarily, if they are active within, they do not care to be dragged out of themselves; it disturbs and impedes their thoughts in a way that it often most ruinous to them.” – Schopenhauer

trying to write with a gel pen feels diuretic / the way I pick the pens I write with is based on how scratchy the tip is against the paper that kinetic feel of the tip to the page. This explains my preference for fountain pens and – when I’m traveling or on the jobby job – Extra Fine Point Sharpies or a Pilot Precise V5 / I favor blue inks except when I’m on the jobby job / then I tend towards black ink : not a deliberate choice on my part / it rose out of the murkiness of imagination maybe it’s the fact that most official paperwork used to require black ink for official signatures and my deep emnity for officious institutions is well-known to anyone who knows me / beyond that

just murk murk murky

wrapped in the murk is a giant glass eye it’s the size of 10,000 suns / sometimes it focuses light into a fine laser sometimes it fractures it into a billion different stars // the giant glass eye does the same to dark matter

my first cat was a long-haired black cat named Blue / I named him Blue because blue is safe — but blue is also not safe / Blue is also the color of Carlos Santana’s guitar pulsing through a high fidelity speaker in the back room of a house buried in the eastern country of southern Ohio where I took acid one New Year’s Eve / that same night I watched the floor turn into maggots and the entire house turned to ice kept melting and refreezing simultaneously

the world is still like that sometimes

still melting and still freezing and everything reverberates in shades of blue

jobby jobs fracture black / sometimes they focus into a high power laser the same color