The fighting intensified over the course of the day, but the song remained the same. Hell is other people and also their dogs.

The birds conversely are the bearers of light. And sometimes white droppings on the paint of the hood, but that much is easily forgiven in the context.

That which brings no light can’t be. Might as well live in town for less.

Or maybe there’s some better way. Of course there is. I sought relief by typing in the name of a dreamier city, and found the webcam for it, pointed up the downtown street. It helped to gaze. I wonder if I’ll get there in time.

Sixteen GB of random access memory makes things very smooth and sleek. I will wonder aloud about how many sentences I’ve ever written are completely unique in the history of writing.

I will meditate privately that the writing about wooden ships and iron men is not what I seek to produce, though I consume it gratefully.

There is a place.

A reified real one I journey toward.

A rolling boil of mayfly imagining places.

This is the start of another three years.