2014-06-01 - 4:30 p.m.

So here it is, this day, flawless of clouds, too easy so that, with all my experience, it makes me suspicious. This day unwinding fast but with a slow smile, this day bold and bright yet subdued of all searing light. This day lazy and hazy, yet acute in how it burns through me, yet fast-moving in its own indolent way. Yes, the way time zigzags through me and across my consciousness, missing me entirely sometimes so that I stare stunned at the time the clock displays. But these days nothing lasts, and life unspools fast as though there were a weight at the end of it, as though there were a time limit to all this.

A color explosion today. I dreamed about it, and then it happened: lights zigzagging through this short space to produce prisms and arrays of color unlike things I have ever seen, colors bold and bright becoming blotches wild marring this bland landscape. Things seem as though in dreams but they waver in this cold reality. Things subsist here, vibrant things in this dead plane, in this expanse of drying grass and under the cancerous sun, things subsist here but how they thrive, well, that is beyond me. They reach up to the sky, and eventually they will die. This is all that we can expect here. Let's clear this space of illusions and exist in the now, or else dry up like these weeds, who have learned only to push up, push up, and push through, with no concept of why or how and without wondering what happens next. Let's be like the sun. Let's burn all our energy at a time; let's disregard the fact that someday we'll run out of fuel and crush a whole planet with darkness and dead planets and doom.

This day is so bright and so alive that inside of it I feel so dead and bland. But this day expects me to rise up like a weed, needing the sunlight instead of the dark room drawn with curtains, instead of the torn sheets, instead of the stale bread.