Tuesday, April 30, 22:14 CDT

I woke up this morning in the middle of dreaming: A desperate attempt to convince people I don't know that the world is in the grip of a conspiracy of demonic forces bent on obscuring all truth. A multilayered conspiracy in which, and I distinctly remember drawing the diagram in burning lines on a roadmap, God Himself must needs be a principle. Framed in Kenneth Rexroth meets Cormac McCarthy language, Roger Zelazny meets small town Nebraska imagery.

Such things probably come of eating too much chili and reading Cities of the Plain 'til 3:00.

It's finals week here. Other people scramble to complete coursework or prepare for tests. We drift. The piles of paper, books, discs, empty bottles and clothing scattered 'round the furniture approach a state of maximum entropy. Everything points to a single, culminating moment that will somehow sum up all that has occurred since late August. That moment when you realize you're done with classes and there's half a ton of your stuff still in your dorm room and somehow it all has to fit in your car.

Happy b-day, Stephen.

p1k3 / 2002 / 4 / 30