i'm not watching anything or listening to anything particular and i think i'm using books as manifolds to filter out everything extraneous i can't decide myself. there's such a swarming compositeness to reality and i can feel so many things being recorded that have no application to me probably but they press on my brain anyway barometrically. so that's where i am. i put down hummingbird salamander because of the aforesaid i assume it was adding layer upon layer when i want to peel the layers away. it was diddling with my brain even if its intention was simply to take me on a thrill ride. i was not thrilled, so i jumped like jiminy crto dead souls not gogol but a scottish lad and at page 40 i'm leaning backward in the pulpy thicket of the words that run i checked without a single paragraph break to the end—page 289. i'm soul tired and i can't sleep but it's a struggle to read and since there is not a pause i have to remember to put some in and breathe. we don't know what's coming it's all a thicket no? and we have to mark a trail and follow our own flashlight.