the toolbox.

in my dream last night i was cooking for someone. it may have been my father and his wife, but i'm not entirely sure.

i asked them where the tumeric and cumin were, and they said to try the spice cupboard. after further inquiries i checked where they had specified, but could find nothing but black pepper, salt, and some lowry's or something.

i got furious. i asked where the hell all the spices were. they said they didn't know. in a huff i stormed out to my car and procured a toolbox, not even sure i was in control of this narritive anymore. i had no idea what was in the toolbox until i opened it.

it was full of rows and rows of spices. tarragon, sage, spanish saffron, cardamom, many others. probably some that don't even exist. i had a complete set. i even had some doubles, which i left as charity for the people i was cooking for.

shortly thereafter i woke up. i still sort of wish i had a toolbox full of spices. or at least some eggs to cook. where the hell is my rye bread?

mixed signals, false starts, self-indulgence.

in an interstellar burst!... you know the rest.

it's a little early in the season to be rising again on the third day, but you'll just have to settle. i suppose i never was very messianic in any case.

the shady bastard at the diner traded me a replacement processor and now everything is running fine. the pause in regularly scheduled programming was actually a welcome one. i got a lot done while still finding the time to slip back into old habits. life is swell, not swollen.

sometimes when you go back to the bar everyone just wants to tell you how they smoke too much, or how many they've had, or what their bad habits of the moment are. this is never interesting, but everyone is guilty. this time, however, it was not a problem. in fact, during one of the few moments in which such an occurence took place, the offending party abruptly stopped, saying, 'oh, i guess you really don't care about that, do you?'

she was just saying my part for me.

i had many dreams, most of which i suppose i have no intention of expounding on. sometimes it's nice to let the thoughts drift out of your head and into the metaphysical wherever to be wept over when inspiration runs dry. this is a feeling akin to blowing your rent money on a bottle of scotch you really can't afford.

this has begun to feel like masturbation. i promise nothing, but it might be fair to anticipate more finely tuned and less coherent posts in the future. a throwback to more prosperous times, if you like.

my computer has met its terrible demise.

while it is possible to continue posting from public terminals or my roommate's laptop, i think i will be not doing that. this is mostly because the keyboard on which i am currently typing is inducing a sort of slow madness that creeps up my spine and eventually puts all rational thought to rest without consideration or consequence.

in the meantime i have my diner, the chinese notebook, and too many things to mention which will end in heart disease. there's a way that i feel about that, too, and it's very cinematic. but i'm not going to try to explain that, either. i just don't have the patience.