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BY Michael

04/01 Direct Link
I Ďm not sure how April is going to be much different from March. So far the weather has not been any different. It is cold and wet. I look up at the Word document screen. It says, ďTell me what you want to do.Ē I am thinking that Iíd like to migrate from Word 7 to this version of Word with minimal pain. The problem may be my decision to use Microsoftís OneDrive. Perhaps it is because I am on the new version of Word on this machine while still using an older version on a Windowís 7 machine.
04/02 Direct Link
The crackle marches around the wet deck with a chip of wood in its beak. It drops the piece of wood, cocks its head and picks it up again. I remember your daughter saying something about crackles while driving her truck Sunday. Was it Sunday? She asked if the crackle was the big blackbird with the green and purple head. The same. The very same. That was the day I had a temporary loss of vision. It happened four, maybe five times. Amaurosis fugax said Google when I looked up my symptoms. Quit smoking, it advised. But I donít smoke.
04/03 Direct Link
It is quiet time before dinner. You have made stuffed bell peppers. They will be ready soon, but you are sleeping now. I will let you sleep while I continue to type. A bird flies past the window while three others strut out on the berm. I wonder briefly about my use of the word berm, but I let it go. It is close to correct. So Iím a little sloppy sometimes. No, Iím not going to let it go. Iím going to have to look it up. You stretch and look at your iPad. You sip your Diet Coke.
04/04 Direct Link
The rain came down filling up the hole. The worm did not know. The worm came out into the water. It did not know. The worm drowned. It turned white floating to the top of the puddle. The worm did not know. Did the worm know? Did the worm struggle as it drowned? What if the worm knew? The worm knew the hole was filling with water. The worm knew it was drowning. The worm knew its life was about to end. The worm knew it had a life. It is perhaps easier to say the worm did not know.
04/05 Direct Link
I have become reckless with my 100-word entries. I have stopped saving them offline, relying on Uncle Roy to save them for me. I did that once before and something happened. Several monthsí worth of entries were lost. Saving them offline would not have mattered I suppose. I donít know. I am of at least two minds on this one, maybe more. I think these things often depend more on my med levels than anything else. I donít mean to malign Uncle Roy either. I think that is who is in charge. I could be wrong about that one too.
04/06 Direct Link
He was following the creek. The grass was long and wet here soaking the bottoms of his pant legs. He kept on walking. He briefly thought about the walk back. He thought that the longer he walked forward, the longer he would have to walk going back. He kept on walking. He thought about stopping to take a drink from the creek. The water looked cool and inviting. He thought about all the animals that might have been in the creek. He kept on walking. He saw some stones in the creek bed that looked interesting. He kept on walking.
04/07 Direct Link
It is time for todayís entry. I have finished my piano practice time. Today I cheated going over on my time a little bit, maybe fifteen minutes. I am at a difficult place in the piece I am working on. Well the piece is difficult for me. I will sort through it though. I always sort through this kind of stuff and have gained a kind of confidence in my ability to sort through. This confidence is a new thing for me because in general I donít have much confidence. This would, I think, surprise most people who know me.
04/08 Direct Link
Itís a juicy warm enrolicked day and I have a full half hour to gaff about it. My swirls bespeak a varied thermometric estallus of campaigned fruits. The fruits themselves have swallowed to their parts delight and we will no doubt be about it until late in the evening. Then when the everbelly dants and escaberoles fly witty into the night we will rest in our psybongs while the banglongs dart and wink against the stopper gaps of fright. Why oh why do we so long for these gluits? Where are the fast stories and glimpses of stars beyond pain?
04/09 Direct Link
Itís a juicy warm burnished day and I have a full half hour to flap about it. My swirls bespeak a varied thermometric stop of campaigned fruits. The fruits themselves have fallen to their parts delight and we will no doubt be about it until late in the seeming. Then when the everbelly dants and escaberoles fly witty into the night we will rest in our buggies while the bangadongs dart and wink against the stopper gaps of fright. Why oh why do we so long for these gluits? Where are the fast stories and glimpses of stars beyond main?
04/10 Direct Link
Itís a sunny warm burnished day and I have a full half hour to go on about it. My swirls bespeak a varied thermometric slop of cabbage fruits. These fruits have fallen to their parts delight and we will no doubt be about it until late in the seeming. Then when the everbellies dart and escaberoles fly witty into the night we will rest in our buggies while the bangadongs swoop and wink against the stopper gaps of night. Why oh why do we so long for these frames? Where are the fast stories and glimpses of stars beyond main?
04/11 Direct Link
Itís been a sunny warm burnished day and I have a full half hour before I have to go. My pacing bespeaks a thermometric slop of cabbage fruits. These fruits have fallen to their parts delight and we will no doubt be about it until late in the seeming. Then when the everbellies dart and scratch and the painted beroles fly witty into the night we will rest in our buggies while the bangadongs flutter against the stopper gaps of night. Why do we so long for these frames? Where are the fast stories and glimpses of stars beyond main?
04/12 Direct Link
Itís been a sunny warm burnished day and I have a full half hour before I have to hair. My pacing bespeaks a thermometric strip of cabbage fruits. These in turn have fallen to their parts delight and we will probably be about it until late in the seeming. Then when the swallows dart and scratch and the painted beroles fly witty into the night we will rest in our buggies while the bangadongs flutter against the stopper gaps of life. Why do we so long for these frames? Where are the fast stories and glimpses of stars beyond main?
04/13 Direct Link
Itís been a sunny warm burnished day and I have a full half hour before I have to hide. My pace bespeaks a violet strip of cabbage fruits. These in turn have fallen to their red delight and we will probably be about it until late in the blue. Then when the swallows dart and scratch and the painted beroles fly witty into the brown we will rest in our green while the siena flutter against the stopper gaps of life. Why do we so long for these crimson? Where are the fast colors and glimpses of stars beyond brack?
04/14 Direct Link
Itís been a sunny warm leather day and I have a full half hour before I have to musk. My citrus bespeaks a lavender strip of floral fruit. These in turn have fallen to their oriental delight and we will probably be about it until late in the aldehydic. Then when the swallows dart and scratch and the fougere conifers fly witty into the chypre we will rest in our herbaceous while the green flutter against the stopper gaps of spice. Why do we so long for these woody? Where are the fast colors and glimpses of stars beyond tobacco?
04/15 Direct Link
Itís a problem. What it is. As the rain falls. As the flowing green vests patrol the park picking up pop cans, hamburger wrappers and other debris. What it is as the cranes stalk and stab limber long legs like broken sticks. What. The bird sits on a bending branch, water dripping. Iím thinking about dental floss as the tip of my tongue searches across the spaces between my teeth. What it is. This consciousness has sprung from the arrangement of atoms in my body, from the arrangement of cells in my brain? What it is. It is a problem.
04/16 Direct Link
Itís the good stuff. Good stuff doesnít cloud your mind. Although the mind seems to be a chronically clouded thing. It wobbles up there, filled with fuzzy meaty stuff. Stuff. Stuffed full of stuff. Itís a wonder we can even walk. But something is good stuff. I clearly had an idea about good stuff when I started here. What happened to my idea about good stuff? My mind must have gotten clouded such that I forgot about the good stuff, if there ever was any good stuff. My God! What is there is no good stuff in life? What then?
04/17 Direct Link
I put the cans back on. I dip back into the headphoneís acoustic space. It is nearly seven oíclock. I could go out for a walk. There are a number of things I could do but I canít. I seem to be stuck in waiting-for-you mode. I could go independent and do something on my own. I think you are waiting for dinner to get done. The corned beef did not cook as well as you would have liked. The cabbage was not done either. I donít want to eat again. I would be fine with not getting fed tonight.
04/18 Direct Link
I think I have a moment here. I have an impression that writing once came more easily to me than it does now. This impression is a fuzzy limited sort of thing. Human consciousness as seen by me is not a clearly defined thing. It is pieces and smatters of images. Memory is so faulty it makes me wonder about all the advancement of the human species. Yet when I see even me working in small slices I can see how it all adds up. Real time experience too seems overwhelmingly limited. We canít see what we seem to see.
04/19 Direct Link
I have another moment here. The pillows are piled in the corner. I am not overwhelmed by anxiety. I should not fool with the settings there. I need to leave the pillows piled in the corner. There is no telling what lurks behind them ready to spring out if I touch a pillow. Like the trip latch on the mousetrap, the bar slamming down breaking my neck. The neck is already broken. It is defined as broken waiting only for the assigned moment to reveal the break. That is the nerve-wracking part, the part that gets me grinding my teeth.
04/20 Direct Link
There are many things I had not planned on. Mostly I did not plan on spending a lot of time staring into space and accounting it a good thing. I look at the Word message, ďTell me what you want to do.Ē There does not seem to be anything I want to do in particular just now. I am happy? Please say I am happy. I am satisfied. I cannot get a happy out of you can I? Why wonít you let go of an ďIím happy.Ē It is a small thing. Iím afraid though. Iím afraid of being wrong.
04/21 Direct Link
Alright I have plenty of time. It is more important to get the right things done than to get all the things done. It is still raining. I will not go somewhere else. I will stay here for now and do this thing. I will see where it takes me. I saw a school bus wander by in the rain. I have been watching school buses for sixty years now, maybe longer. They have changed in subtle ways but they are still long and yellow with those windows. All those windows. I wonder if they still slide up and down.
04/22 Direct Link
I have been toying with the idea of going out for lunch. Perhaps I should say breakfast since I havenít done that yet either. McDonalds would not be a bad choice for breakfast and I donít have to worry about them saying ďWe are no longer serving breakfast.Ē How many times have I heard that? Wendyís would be the choice were it lunch, I think. I could go to the local Coney and have an omelet. Or I could cook one here and eat it. Which is the quickest given that I need time for both the cooking and cleaning?
04/23 Direct Link
I have two storage tubs of LPís in the garage ready to be thrown out. I plan on rescuing them. Iím not ready to let them go yet. Throwing out LPís is a kind of sin in my mind. Also I have a beautiful turntable that Iím not ready to let go of yet. True there is no space in this house to set it up. Well you disagree with me pointing out the space on the audio cabinet. But turntable requires other space. It requires space for the LPís which I do not have. It is a circular problem.
04/24 Direct Link
Ennui. Is it Ennui I am feeling? I do my usual thing and look up the word. The dictionary entry says, ďa feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.Ē Oh wow, did they ever nail me. A lack of occupation or excitement. See? We have a right to occupation and excitement. Isnít that implied in that definition. I donít want to quote the list of synonyms they gave for the word. Some of them make my brain go to strange places. Does having a word to describe your malady help you? I donít know.
04/25 Direct Link
Imagine a world where you had to write a 100-word entry every day or die. So long as you kept on writing your 100 words every day you would live. I have a question already. Would writing the 100 words be enough to ensure your life or would you have to publish them too? Does your life now depend on your having a computer and a working internet connection? Would an AT&T failure kill you? I am a little surprised at how quickly my scenario devolved into questions of detail. I can see there would be no end to this.
04/26 Direct Link
I am still toying with my fantasy of an existence where you had to write 100 words a day to survive. I decided that writing the words was enough. You did not need to actually publish them. AT&T could not kill you by disrupting your service for 24 hours. You donít even need to print them or type them out. You could scrawl them in the mud. It is necessary to actually write them out. This is what keeps you busy. I am thinking that suicide would be painless in this world. You just stop writing and off you go.
04/27 Direct Link
They call it Vox Angelli, the voices of angels. I wonder if this is what angels sound like. Forgetting right up front the question of whether angels exist. Of course angels exist. Is not the multi-verse infinite? If it is infinite than all things exist. Although there is the bothersome idea that all possible things exist. I have always been of the thought that possible is a matter of very small probabilities. When the number of repetitions is infinite then all probabilities become certainty and all things are possible. This includes everything you can imagine and things you cannot imagine.
04/28 Direct Link
The wind is toying with things outside. It toys with things it can toy with and perhaps many other things that I just cannot see the evidence of the manipulation. The wind and grey skies remind me of my boyhood in Ohio. There is something inherently lonely-making about wind and grey skies for me. It is cold and lonely-making. Perhaps it reminds me of growing up inside this infinity of universe with the certainty of mortality facing me. It is not something I have ever found a safe place to hide. It seems that I am not alone in this.
04/29 Direct Link
It is easy to get distracted. But letís think about the nature of the probable and possible again. If what we view as impossible is merely the improbable then all things are possible and in an infinite universe all things are certain. This has some interesting implications since infinity in time extends backward as well as forward. This would mean all things have already happened. If this were true and I have already existed an infinite number of times with memory of my existence, then why donít I remember? That is because the probability of my not remembering is higher.
04/30 Direct Link
I have eight minutes left here, a finite amount of time with an infinite number of slices that could be taken out of it. In a way it is an infinite amount of time, but only so were I quick enough to be able to use it. I would have to be infinitely quick or I guess I would have to be solid in a sense which would likely take me back around to being finite. There is just no way out of this finite thing. Apparently there is at least no way to think your way out of it.