Cue the fog

I have not been very industrious today. The day began with a hint of what could have been very productive day lit hours. What proceeded to happen was the appearance made by our own dear Queen Bee. In her company a new neighbor and two blunts. A minute amount of labour was accomplished until hunger over came my senses. The rest of the day belonged to the heat and the company of erotic literature. However, I did accomplish the task of emptying my worldly belongings out of the retched cat cave.  My bike is still in need of rescue from the basement of Cramont Manor. 

Tonight, the first night at my new residence I have a strange apprehension towards. I have come prepared with screens to repel the bugs. In store for the blood-mongers I have equipped candles. It serves the ambiance as well as it's deathly purpose. The heat is dreadfully sedating. How I manage is beyond my comprehension. It seems I've happen to capture the attention of a strange neighbor nearby. I do not know him, but he is relentless in his pursuit.  My apologies stranger of persistence, but my affection has already been captured - you are too late! I've had the good fortune not to be present while he is, but when we cross paths again I will have to set him straight. This is my home and I will not be bothered by petty little men. 

When work becomes overwhelming, remember that you will die; what a hell of a saying. there is still much to do, but the hardest part is over. I suppose it's up to my leisure to unpack my things, but that is only the reefer talking. I was amid the chore when Betsy made her entrance in a cloud of smoke; unable to resist temptation I indulge. 

Oh summertime lethargy soon to give way to semester wide panic. I will have to dig my heels into the soft soil and plow my own way. Until then, I will be floating in a cloud of limbo waiting for the rays of light to pierce the haze. Until then, I will eagerly cast aside obligation for the scattered memories of summer nights. 

Fire for Prometheus

The events from the prior night have stirred to life some resting impressions. There are pressing matters at hand that await addressing. If only I could do so. Though and action are in contention. There is this haze indecisiveness that looms around my head. Hangs there like a heavy raincloud, impregnated with conflict. This fog is the leucotome for an overdue lobotomy. Code blue doctor, this patient is on her way out.

If only chaos had it's limitations could I possibly compete. However, exhaustion: the vultures hunger who cannot wait until dusk to devour my liver. There is no sense in the chains that bind. I have broken them in a time longer ago then this, yet I lie there still as the bird's flight cast a shadow. There must be more at work than I anticipated. 

I dare not say

If it where not for coffee, I would only be half as intelligent as I appear. It's a struggle to understand my own mental capacity; it's about as dexterous as a Willow's leafy tendrils. From somewhere deep, dark, and dank, is my determination to explode onto the academic scene. I picture them to scoff at my fashionably late entrance. "Who's this nobody?" the other scientist would ask, with an pompous air about their abnormally large heads. 

Exactly that, I am nobody. I know nothing and I have done nothing. I'm just a nobody who dreamily wishes to be more than a speck of dust in the cosmic scheme of things. All the while my three pound mass was in a state of lucid delusion, I contrived a notion of grandeur. With the Milky Way as the backdrop, I peeled away reality's curtain to reveal the consequence of my resolution. 

So, I had to swim out of the fog of doubt and come crashing mouth first into the sandy shore. It was a difficult recovery and I'm still metabolizing that half ounce of THC I assimilated in one day. Sloth is so unbecoming and I must endeavor to relinquish such a horrid trait. Among these other task at hand, the most prominent ordeal is to capture the attention of a demigod. 

Jupiter's breath

An exhale that encompasses a breadth of sentiment is what my respiration consist of these days. It's a dull lethargic day in the laboratory and I've had little to eat but pounds to digest. The subject of my confusion seems to be these communist tendencies that my fathers habits have bled into my social fabric. I find myself resisting fundamental needs like food, drink, and social interaction for the persistence of labour. Exhaustion settles in some remote region of my brain and pulses there behind my orbits.

However, pleasure dangles just within reach and I am liberated! This weekend is reserved for family, friends, and folly.  The mere contemplation of coming events splits my crown from ear to ear. The consummation of land and waves has an irresistible elegance that no self resolve could endure. I simply cannot wait until I am a canvas for the shadows of leaves. I should consider myself lucky if I am not counted as a casualty of occasional recreation by the end.