I return from the depths of grind and gorge. The orange felt tip pen that keeps track of counter points is itchy. The keyboard has mocked my absence. All of my ‘office creatures’ have missed me with the lubricated mental velocity of ferocity.

My trip had highlights and I would like to thank the Sullivans of Peabody MA for making my vacation salvageable.

My Dad made some great food and I had some great (orgasmic) roast beef sandwiches from Bill and Bob’s Famous Roast Beef that left me looking for more and more and more. The clams I had sucked and I was too broke for lobster.

The rest was rubbish and I would have been fine not having the whole trip go down. It would have been easier to just dig my own reality. Social interaction is not one of my high points these days.

Been feeling the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion lately but still can’t find the tracks I remember from a lost weekend in Humboldt back in 2001. Ah, what a fall that was. Images over words; words as a spice, a garnish.

And this leaves me with a set of clips to jive along with some music. I seem to like both. I seem to be attracted to it. It makes me hard and moist in all the right places and then leaves me smiling:

This leaves me feeling calm enough to write the conclusion to this post; it leaves me feeling sublime and yummy and just relaxed enough to laugh at anxiety.

In a world of sleepy people, 80 hour work weeks do not make much sense.

I wish I could sleep.

Godspeed …