is all that is left of my discipline today.
This morning it was red and fresh, almost
willing itself into a soup, or pickling itself
kraut-wise. Earlier still, it was a game of
cribbage. At present, the tattered and bruised
wet or slightly rotting vegetable is gone, there
isn’t even a memory of the bold power that it
might have become, and perhaps did; to repeat,
all of the power and the focus are gone. And I am
gone, sitting here refusing to pick up the fancy
gone, sitting here refusing to pick up the fancy
pen lying next to my fancy notebook, but rather,
taking umbrage at all of the potential that is now
gone forever from this nearly vanished day that,
when it began a few short hours ago, was nothing
but endless potential. To repeat, this day has
turned from potential-laden into nothingness,
thanks to general laziness and my otherwise
frittering away of the entire day, which has
now completely been engulfed within the darkness
of night, the darkness of me sitting here, brain
full of regret, at night, surrounded as well by all
but dimly recognizable images conjured by the
ghosts of windows and phones, nothing to keep an
attention long enough to even be sure if the somewhat
familiar wraith-like blip is a remnant of one of those
physical things (such as a window or a phone) or is
simply the emanation of something physical (like a
window or a phone). And so I sit simmering in
an obsidian of darkness without a thing in the
world to show for what earlier had been
the beginning of a day that had so promised
to be one of efficient accomplishment.
