I once had a friend named Cleshay.

I feel like a Cliché right now. I'm devouring Sigur Rós and coffee. I'm living up to the eccentric standards I perceive. I hate enough things to be interesting in conversation. I know which things I should do, which I should not do, and which things I should do, but ironically. I have a macbook, instead of a windows laptop. I own a fedora, but I don't remember whether I wear it ironically or not. I'm writing a blog entry. I microblog. I acknowledge that twitter can be pretentious, voyeuristic, annoying, or just pointless. I do it it anyway.

But sometimes, things happen that break this perpetuity.

Last night I watched endless huddles of inebriates roam by Ruffner Bridge, and wished every single one of them a good night, acting as some soft of benevolent bridge troll. Every time, for whatever reason, I found an extemporaneous and ephemeral friendship. Blame their alcohol if you like, but I blame (and believe in) serendipity. Maybe, if you take away a little of people's logical perception, it's easier to notice their truly caring and social aspects.

This coffee is pretty good.

I owe a businessman in downtown ten bucks.

I need a nap and a shower and three more hours in a day.

stream of consciousness
is an unnecessary way to express complex ideas
but useful for the abstract
I hesitate to think because I want to hear my thoughts ready-made;
effortless.
pre-supposed, and derivative
rather than formless, nearly clear, a thin mist, and therefore unclear.
what is gradable is therefore fallible.

I am a pilgrim making sense of gray matter marsh
finding unconventional conventicles in my cerebrum
and hiding there