Taste.

The Impossible is being eaten away, one small piece at a time.

Get you some. 

It's delicious, but highly addictive . Not many survivors of the rehab, and it won't be pretty when it's all gone.

A Tweet by another name...

 I used to want to bowl a tournament in every state. Now I wonder if the bigger challenge would be to try to visit the bowling alleys I have won a tournament in.  This is not a small number, and many (most?) have closed. I guess I should try to visit the location?  Could be interesting. My own little stealth goodbye tour. 

>>>>>>>>>>>

Life is satire. I would say it is bad, cheap writing, but I think the best satire goes unbeknownst...and few of life's participants seem to catch on. Horatian, Juvenalian, Menippean...parody, incongruity, exaggeration, and reversal are clearly represented at any given moment, from almost any possible viewpoint. 

>>>>>>>>>>>

Are you sure there are only two choices? Are you sure they have different results? 

Dig deep for the less obvious. 

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Start a sentence until it finishes itself. Write until it is not you writing. Poets, songwriters, call it The Muse.

 Matrix?

 Maybe. I have talked about it many times...all those writers that say it just came to them. Those fictional inventions that were later manifested into reality. (Jules Verne, for example.) 

Has the story already been written, or does it write itself? Do we write it ? Is every word, every thought, out there somewhere? That would imply dreams exist, and maybe we do not, or every thought is reality. Lore exists that implies we should be careful what we think of.  For humors sake, may I refer to the giant marshmallow man in Ghostbusters?  

People believe there are actual gateways to other realms, and one day the demons may spill into ours.  The implication is that this would be curtains for us. 

I would prefer to envision that event as more like the brawl at the end of Blazing Saddles.

>>>>>>>>>>>

Call it fiction.  

The wife likes store bought ice

 Air.

I type to a vacuum, and I love it. It's like speaking to loved ones, that you know won't hear what you said Til you are gone.

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I was bullied as a child. Among other abusive tendencies, they stabbed me with pencils and broke the lead under my skin. I still have green marks.

I wasn't a victim...it didn't hurt, and I had hopes that these otherwise good kids would grow out of it before the next guy they did this to came along. He probably wouldn't have been so kind.

I've probably mentioned that I'm not bitter.

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Currently watching the social engineering, wondering what the plan really is. I'm sure it will come to me.

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Sadness in the air where laughter should be.

Work on that.