Morning.
I made a mistake, I woke up, it’s all the same now in the shadow of the city. My friend tells me that waking up is a series of complex chemical reactions that rescued you from the unconscious state of innocence. A lot of potassium and sodium ions flow to the right places at the right times to get you to wake up. Each ion is doing the right thing with good intentions and inevitably lead to one colossal mistake. My friend also said, before we found his body, that the road to perdition was paved with good intentions. I never learned why you would want to travel to this placed called perdition, which sounded awfully close to a convention of dentists. (I’ve been to one of those, and they ramble on forever without plaques or women or plot.) And paving with good intentions, which seemed terribly abstract. I have a lot of paver friends, and I think they’d be angry to learn that somebody was paving with a material not sanctioned by the Paver Union. What, is this perdition person too good for brick? And, if so many people went to perdition each today, there’d be a bureau of transportation somewhere. And they’d see to it that there’d be a road paved with asphalt, and why wouldn’t you want to travel on that? It all comes down to trust sometimes. I figure people who travel on the intentions road must be really stubborn, and they probably deserve what they get for making such poor decisions.
The room I’m in is gently rising and gently falling. You can tell me to go outside, but I know where I am. All around me is water because I can hear it and I can hear the seagulls, white and pure and innocent. And the water isn’t the cheerful type that cheerfully sparkles its cheerful blueness every time you cheerfully look at it. The water is probably gray and sullen; somebody had told to water to go up to its bedroom and stay there until dinner, and the water was not very happy about it. I can tell. It’s that kind of day. I don’t even know where I am. The water is choppy too, but there’s no good analogy to describe choppy because I’ve tried many times and each time my brain hurts and I end up writing a romance novel instead about dentists and their perdition.