Caedmon's Hymn, an unfocused musing that pistol-whips so many innocent strangers.

"He thought he was gay, but the pathology was much more complex."

Indeed, if he says hes an entrepreneur, he's employed.

Lives in a duplex?  Mother's basement.

A foodie?  Has his parent's SNAP card.

He was singing "I don't wanna miss a thing."

I was reading the Miller's tale, and the naked "arses" and all, flatulence, the natural discourse as it were, of lover's in meeting, and the endless philibustering of workman hid in bathing tubs, suspended from ropes like butterfly decopage.  Yer know they were on pilgrimage, and all?  Flotsamming and jetsomming around the thoroughfare intercoursing, "capillary action" and all that, and I was still going on about the potato lighting the light bulb, and doing the trapeze stuff, Walmart wire for my radio and all, a "little project", and I remembered that Alex was born and raised in the projects on the southside of Bern.

It was not entirely a discordant train of thought: gay, and too much time on one's hands, the brightest blue little butterfly that I see in the air, and Reg Wight said the butterflies are free, and all, and he will be "Levon".

Had a little fruit salad, dumbly poking around the pieces, scared to raise my eyes to Caitlyn, they were talking about AI deepfakes, and I was wondering if we'd ever had an honest word, that maybe she didn't like my Thundercats bed-in-a-bag.  I had even dressed up for her birthday, an indulgence, and moreover than thoughts, presumptions, the pretense of the thing, changing my tire on the way to her cousin's wedding, me singing Aerosmith, wanting to sing, moreover, Simon and Garfunkel.

I could maybe try to light a lightbulb with static electricity with what little hair I still have on my coconut, not being, for once, the dimmest of the crayons in the box.

Use the collected binge-watching couch-buzz to light the way to the future, and all that, and no, I don't think AI can write compelling TV yet, but sure they can do a kind of basic-to-intermediate type thing, probably a level above SVU; capture the electric current before their asses completely knit into the fabric of the couch upholstery.

"It's da Kang's day, Levon.  Sing Madman Across The Water."  I went into a daydream.  "We celebrate Kang day, too."  And me sitting there trying to spell words in my fruit salad, like it was Alphabits or something.  Speaking of alphas, I had seen Wozniak on tv, too.  This completely away from the debut of the dubious Apple card, and all.  People presuming and truck-ducking to owe their lives to the company store, their eyes, their thoughts, even their bodies.

 

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