My brain is a tesselated fractal staring in a mirror at 3 Am on a Friday after three Twinkies and a shot of Jager and a long discussion about cats and bolts.
Spare me, I cry loudly to the antiquated sky.
My mind weaves in and out of lucidity. I don't know how people do the "regular" thing every day. Us humans pretend we have things under control, but we don't. We don't even have enough food in our houses to last three weeks. We're stupid.
Yesterday my I-Ching was the mountain over creativity. I am to stay put, to eat out, and to practice. Not to force myself into a situation I don't want to be in. To have a goal.
Therefore be it resolevd that I shall become Farmer America, wonderman of all things agricultural.
Everyone is invited to my farm, and we'll eat and play music, as well as fingerpaint and build cob houses.