i joined the machine river of traffic headed out of the infernal engine of the citay last night to my sister's birthday, ants in my pants and calmly whining about autoworld to my sacrificial driver. believe it or not i think about what i say sometimes paradoxically. then going to eat sushi i talked of the widening gyres of fantastical plastic constellations disintegrating slowly through the gullet of bird and fish and shipped back to us as lovely sashimi. i wonder if the plastic silt will ultimately turn back into oil. 
i ate a spider maki and my driver thought i said monkey, and i remembered when i was the strike-out king in little league, standing at bat swinging 30 odd times glancing the most delicate blows to the epidermis of the damned and eternally returning ball and watching with wrenching envy a boy on the side lines with a spider monkey dancing about his shoulder.

this will not mean much to many people, but in there somewhere is the oft-fustrated wish to connect, which doesn't make it any more interesting.