Rant #8

I have sat down to write, well, rather, laid flat on my tummy, elbows propped out like a tv. stand, supporting a malnourished, meatless neck & skull. I have set out to write when I guess I should be doing yoga, or browning the unders of my legs, or getting my nails done with Lauryn on Sunset. Some Hollywood bullshit. I have been here for one week and one day. Many people have attempted to craft time into something tangible, something a little less weary than the daunting significance behind the antithesis of being able to remember something decades past so absolutely you could swear it happened just seconds ago, and then not being able to cite, for the fuck in you, what you ate for breakfast last Monday. My last couple years in the Pacific Northwest were invigorating, breath-taking, intoxicating, and ultimately, and most importantly, illuminating. Perspective is the light and it wormed it's opinionated, yet irrefutably correct posterior into even the dankest of cracks. But, more on that later, red oil is calling.