i soul tired. i think i was up last night. idle know what i was up to. the sky reminded me of a story today. there's no plot. we're all flying by the seat of our pants as we say. the story is a confabulation between each dreamer under the sky and the individual sky of the individuated dreamer. we come from a dream. we don't remember specifics much before birth. we collect in certain places, we don't know even know why sometimes, and we do not want to be displaced. we know the sky would not exist, especially like this, without us. i imagine painters who paint skies when they die make sky pictures like this. this might be a charles burchfield sky. this might be my charles burchfield sky.