You know, I just noticed that I didn't get on here today and while (wile?) away the hours whacking some sillylowkey into the netherworlds. I'm not sure what possesses me to do that. But today I wasn't possessed.
Some flippant Internet Commentators (using the net, of course) might say that's because I got a life today. A chip of one. Like a paint chip.
"This is your life."
"It's......red."
"Yah. I know."
But, I think under the microscope (it's where I do my best) there is NO evidence of a life here.
However, if we could distill out why today is different from that other kind of a day, we could learn something about Paul Gauguin, and what makes him tick-talk.
Is it a good thing?
Is it a bad thing?
(How could it be a good thing? It seems nothing like this is ever a food thing. Oops, a good thing. (G and F are close together.) It's something where you're almost afraid to shine the flashlight of investigation, and are hunched up before they even start. Because you don't fare well under screwtiny.)
If I were Kennedy, I never would have invaded a place called The Bay Of Pigs.
Screwtinize that.
Well, I have to go, or this day could be flipping.
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