Today I feel like a magic carpet.

The thoughts in my head are brilliant and black, and will be like the stars if I can see my way clear to create them as they viscerally live.

It's hard, cruel plot, but it's better than nothing.

For the meteorologist, it's spring. The rest of us have to wait til the dark moon on the 20th.

Loose me into the world with a head full of Hasidim and men in black boots with dark expressions, and a speech of snark with the talking points hovering between ideal and outline. I feel very good, today.

<<agé chose>>

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