Have you ever stopped suddenly, realizing that everything is perfect in this one second? Everything stopped, and for a moment you were beautiful? I hadn't experienced that perfection in a long time. I did last week. I think it was Thursday. The air was forty five degrees and the sun was almost fallen. The air was damp, and a pink wash of dying light caught on pine, caught on salty pavement, caught on a wooden fence. I inhaled that moment. By sorcery I stretched it into a full thrity minutes. That moment was seen as I left the building, you see, so I was able to epilogue it with my departure from work, a loud radio volume, and open windows. Magic carpet.

The land was bleached again on Friday.

It can be entertaining to fuel preposterous imagininings into schizopherenic territory. For instance, what if human moods were dust, and wind and light circulated them among the population? It would certainly give more heed to the notion that our moods are influenced by weather. My perfect moments always come when I stand outside during these atmospheric zeniths, those idyllic moments when the sun blazes or the light glows or the wind caresses. That's why I miss walking.

Everybody likes to imagine something invisible.

In the meantime my flourescent desk lights murder any fanicful flights and leave me stark and grey. It's not hard labor, but there must be a reason that people describe working in an office as a soul-sucking job. Apart from identity issues, could it be the light? Maybe these buzzing tubes attract only foul dust, the kind the makes you whine and slouch and frown.

So how does darkness figure into this crackpot's tangent? I do not know. It doesn't matter, because if I try to organize these thoughts and force them into logic, I could get whiplash. No, better to focus on tonight's mission: oblivion.

I need miles on foot. Concentrated automatic-fire perfect moments, flashing in staccato. I emerge aglow with polish. Give me sun, give me heat, give me blisters on my feet. Give me a reason to Look Up.
5:54 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm