Observables (0xc0ffee)

Skunk spray smells deep blue; black and blue. And smooth, not like B.O. with its prickly peaks of fiery yellow and orange, giving themselves over to more earthy tones of yellow-gray and then brownish as they disappear into the vanishing point of a hard-to-describe, non-spatial dimension…this image is that of every less-than-inspired physics textbook’s text-and-figure depiction of a black hole as a bowling ball resting on the mattress of the universe, where the mattress is covered with a rubber sheet with gridlines, as if its owner is known to wet the bed and be entirely too fond of graphing things. Skunk spray kind of reminds me of Axe deodorant, which smells silver-blue, which is also a song (and another one (whose images uncannily correlate (love and blood and pass(age)oftime(lone(lines)s))). Oh, and another one.

Coming home tonight I could have been mowed down by an obviously irritated cabbie (although the reason for his irritation was not observable), but wasn’t. The cab simultaneously as an entity and a system of states, biding its time with an implausibly-tight U-turn mentally queued, ready to trigger on the perfect opening, and did…its centroid, tires spinning, was the axis of an intricate and beautiful vaudeville act of cars and pedestrians converging without blocking; open gearing made from revolving doors.

More systems, more states, unreadable, like a dodgy AOL diskette after its 50th reformat in a dusty room, which, if you were lightly standing on it, would still be unreadable, even if you took off your shoes, your socks, your skin.

I haven’t really slept a usable amount in a while…it’s kind of a waste of time if you can avoid it. The familiar, but rare, state I’m in now is fueled by caffeine and lack of contentment and fellow-human catalysts that shake up and randomize thought patterns like a snow globe. Random is good, unlike the usual patternful form, which is kind of like having a song stuck in your head all the time, except that the song is made out of text and it doesn’t make any sense. I should be taking advantage of this and coding something now. It’s hard to write anything while content, complacent. But this agitated, randomized state – even if it doesn’t feel good, it does, in its own wierd way.

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