you can bet, you can bet, but it's going to track track track

What happened? It all prosaicked out and soon I was speaking in a language of use and not of the mythical, lyrical internal speak I've been speeching. I've got to do it, I've got to rebel against it. Because when did we give these letters, symbols, numbers their meaning? Did we arrest them? Did we always think in these rules? You can blame opium but I find a lot in "A noir, E blanc, I rouge, U vert, O bleu*." I wasn't digging at carpet, there was never carpet, there was buried treasure vast with possibilities. Don't we want multiple paths of possibilities instead of sitting at a screen with half starts and logical blandness?

It doesn't fit through my sieve.

Sometimes I've got to yell it out.

Sometimes I've got to tear myself away from the une page of analyzation papers.

What a prolific evening.

*Arthur Rimbaud, Voyelles