WYSIWYG

There are days, and there are days. Every once in a while there are also moments. And when they happen, things begin to happen. One decides to end it once and for all. If one were in the ages before Bill Gates and Google, one would pick up the pen and write. But these days one just opens one's laptop and blogs.

Sigh. Such is life. But then, such life is the good life.

There is hope for this world. Yet.

For the Sheer Non-Dual Joy of Non-Sense

I feel compelled to write. I dunno if this the call from the higher order random crappiness or sheer lack of sleep, I feel this annoying itch to write.

Readers kindly note, that the itch is to write. NOT to make sense. So if you are expecting profoundness here, thou art to be grossly dissappointed and annoyingly bored.

I feel I need to make a case for being zonked. It's a good state of being. I mean, you can walk around bumping into radom stuff that pops up on the road, like trees for instance, and not feel stupid. When you've been running on coffee and denial for two weeks, that's a darn good state of being.

Now I feel accomplished that I managed to write five lines of absolute non-sense. You may now move to find worthier stuff to waste your time with.

The itch, my friend, now stands scratched.