No Stopping Anytime

I had something to say, I swear.

While I was on the shuttle, I had intended to write something I could post when I got home, but sleep overtook me and I woke up in a city enveloped by fog.  I remember the first August I had spent in San Francisco. I was in a cab on my way to meet some friends.  The cab driver was loquacious, as cab drivers often are, and as we drove through thick fog, in a thick Russian accent he told me, "in San Francisco there is no August, there is only Faugust."  Such an asinine rhyme, but it has proven itself true.

Back to the topic at hand.  There was something I was going to say.  Like a car I parked it, thinking I would just return to it later, but it seems to have been towed away.  Foolishly, I must have ignored the no stopping sign.  Perfect.  This will give me the chance to use yet another street-sign photo for today's post.  Fucking raking in points here on originality and creativity.

There's a topic.

It's difficult to write daily.  Difficult to set aside time, difficult to focus, difficult to have something to say.  Writing has a way of scraping the trash and debris from the gutters of your mind; like street cleaning.  Fuck.  There I go with the street-sign references again.  When I say writing daily, I mean writing leisurely (though there are times, like now, when there is nothing leisurely about it) without plan or purpose; for enjoyment.

All day at work I write.  I write facts.  Just the facts.  Without flair, without color.  Like an undead dragon, I breathe lifeless words onto a page - technically onto a computer screen, but that's not relevant really.  There is something especially damaging about eschewing creativity.  Particularly when doing so for 60hrs a week.  I suffer a kind of stunting, where the lithe and lissome elements of my imagination are reduced to rigid and inelastic dwarves.  Is a brown dwarf a thing or am I making that up?

Nope, they're real.  From a cursory read, they're stars that can no longer make ends meet. The interstellar version of someone crippled by debt.  That's what my mind has become.  A universe full of brown dwarves, especially concentrated in the Dingle cluster, located just outside of a black hole.  Speaking of, I think a brown dwarf fell out of my ass when I took a shit earlier, before I left work.  I had eaten a burrito for lunch, full of black beans.  So theoretically it may have been a black dwarf.  I can't recall its exact pigment.

Perhaps it was a pygmy.