what i am about to type in here originated in a notebook i must have blindly picked up last night and scrawled in. i don't remember any of it, nor can i remember what i was thinking. some of it is indiscernible, some is nonsensical, but i have nothing else to write and some of this is a little interesting.

you've got 2 options: plod onward, goal in sight, or set up camp and stay another night in another unfamiliar territory. continue? do you give up? can i keep this up? will i keep on keepin' on? or just move on? or stay static again. static or dynamic? my head is filled with these bluesy notions that i am unforgivably alone... despite what little efforts i make in order to relate my intentions go unfulfilled somehow. i don't have the chance to write like i used to and this is me working out the cobwebs. rust. oilcan. i do not wish to go on living one witticism at a time. someday i hope to string one-liners along to create a compund thought. i'm too lazy to keep my pen moving at a sufficient pace. it's almost as if i am writing in code, i can't be bothered to keep up with the lines. and it's getting worse so i'll stop-- mercifully.