Days like this one just lead me here naturally. No need for a sweater, so the coatrack is irrelevant. But where do things go otherwise? Where did the music go after played earlier? A grand jam on a Saturday afternoon, all but lost, though we have a tape that resembles it. Then surprising contact from a couple of people, another added even as I begin to type...

So that makes a few, I suppose.

I'm the same as I was when I six years old. And oh my God I feel so damn old. I don't really feel anything.

Modest Mouse

When the world's revolving at this speed, I can't keep up with laundry or trash disposal or friends or family. Randomly things pop up, like coatrack thoughts, out of the blue, leave me scratching my head at a particularly difficult question posed by a teacher, hundreds of miles away.

If I continue to ponder, it leads nowhere, thought being its opposite. So I quit scratching, so as to avoid unnecessary hair loss, get a refill and smile at odd coincidence that leads to more of the same old. It's not like I won't be at work on Monday. It's not like I won't pay my bills this month to facilitate a lazy life as a spoiled sport. It's not like I don't hear a bouncing basketball outside, but I'm not about to go out there and play.

Stay in and play, beat on things that cost a lot to abuse. Use new sticks and observe how slowly I chip away toward the heart of things. Then things reach out and grab me, all in a day. I conform and reach out in the best direction I have, or two, one being pointless anyway. The other is a question mark that keeps me going, whether or not I have a place to hang my hat.

Sweater, I mean. I don't wear hats.

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