36-37 every day in the Yucatan Peninsula. Almost wrote penicillin; heat-related type. Good time for free writing exercise. Maybe jog those neurons and get them to fire in some interesting combinations.
Digital fartz. Can’t stop listening to BWV 118, Bach motet, best version seems to be Suzuki. Not on YouTube? Only Spotify. Grabsnabble. https://open.spotify.com/track/1srvdyzq57OOX3LP9PzXUW?si=TVTi-1ssS3yEfi-GSFpqJA life-changing fuck yeah corporate plug!
Snifflesnaff. Down to one of my last bags of Indonesian coffee. Every bag is pre-ground and a ticking time bomb. Each new French Press tastes just a little more off than the previous one. Drink it fast or it will eventually no longer be worth drinking at all. This could probably pass as a metaphor for something, but it’s too hot for me to know what.
It’s 6:44 PM and the temperature has cooled to a crisp 33 degrees. Surprised I can’t handle the tropical heat like I used to. Aging? Or just perception? Probably listening to 18th century funeral music isn’t helping me to stay cool.
Nozzlespluff. Poomadoompadongles. Perhaps I shouldn’t make coffee in a plastic French press. If the C-word (not the sexist one) should strike me down, will I blame pouring near-boiling liquids into a plastic receptacle? Shatterproof, though.
SHANTALOOLA! Free writing serves as an attempt to escape the mundanity of everyday life. My basic animal needs are too easy to meet, and it’s too easy to leave the remainder of my time an unstructured, sprawling mess. Fucking Whatsapp. SPLANT THAT ZANGLE!
A long time ago, there lived an elk. I can’t remember the rest of the story but it was a good one. Why is the human body programmed to self-destruct? Intesting snafapaloo you’ve got there, buddybondraggle!!!
Gotta finish that coffee, milk that lattice of snickering possum-eaters, sazalalazafapanzapanatantazangalandaglandalandaloon. As your grandpa used to always say! Maybe.