I drove through a thick daybreak fog today for the first time in ten days. For a week I was green, bronchitis with cigarettes. I am glad to return to work, where the flourescents will sting my eyes. I lost my brush so I put my Panama Jack on my crown.

I've never kneeled down and licked the asphalt. Never had gravel tic tac toe my tongue. Never had splinters take tally on my forehead. Still I think of unprotected flesh and beads of blood and the unrestrainable urge to poke a wound.

That's mighty raw. What brought it on? I want to get naked and hug a tree. Shit in the woods. Kill a fish with a stick. Break an animal with a rock. Bathe in mud. Bone tools and cave fires. Rising with the sun. Guts in unfinished pottery.

Hmmm. I just felt the need to write something down, and that's what I got. Makes me wonder about myself. Where the hell does that come from? What is it supposed to be?
10:18 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm