Drag on and keep eating

The word Sundae:
"Perhaps an alteration of Sunday, either because the dish was made with ice cream left over from Sunday and sold cheaply on Monday, or because it was sold only on Sundays, a practice devised (according to some accounts) to circumvent Sunday legislation."

I'm sitting at Peet's Coffee and Tea in La Jolla, which is a part of San Diego, which is a place with a breeze and sunny people and surfers and lots of money being spit around, dangling from people's mouths, more like drool after a deep slumber or the last drops of syrup crawling along the edge of the glass trying to get somewhere. To my left sits an old woman with a broken arm and 5 or 6 teeth. She begins talking with the gentleman behind me, after his wife goes into the store, and asks where he's from.
Iceland.
She gasps - "I don't think I've ever met anybody from Iceland."
She continues speaking but her words drown in her loneliness and everybody turns their heads towards other more and less, more or less, important things.

the attempt to confront and justify the Ouroboros:
In all its sad, infinite dribble there's the monster in time, in memory, in your days, swallowing itself, knowing the insignificance of its own ferocious march away from itself and into itself, for itself and against itself. The pursuit of anything, swallowing up eventually by the pursuit itself. The chase and the kill. The contradiction, the resistance - namely, the power struggle, omnipresent and persistent to the point of destruction. We all go around with interests, desires, whatevers - selfish in some way, a tree bending sideways towards the sun. The friends we keep or don't, the people we spit on - we do things for ourselves, for our happiness or sadness. And we slowly eat away at that ability we possess to live fully - to overflow. Instead we dam up our souls and die of thirst. Either we ignore things when we should act on them or we act on them when they should be ignored. Rather than let things flow, not getting caught on a stone resting at the bottom...
Running the gauntlet and trudging through. i fucking hate getting caught up on small things. The dramatic. And i know i can easily make things insane. Have you heard of the man who had great thoughts and couldn't move?
Some patience and your heart begins to beat slow and then blood flows to your fingertips and you swallow the pit in your throat and take two steps towards the river.
Everybody's different though. I just speak from a little chair in the corner, sometimes lounging behind the gates of hell.

A call to action. That everything one does now will happen ad infinitum; that your laugh and smile right now will never stop; that your cigarette yesterday will be smoked in the same way for all of time (time being that trick that makes us see in straight lines). Now, the call to action, choosing those things which you want to be imprinted on boundlessness.
A brushing aside of the past and the future, understanding that both fall into place when you plunge in to the immediate. They're just jewelery. Carve something into my skin and i slice into time, peeling away the layers. The past and future come together and form a moment. Forces of resistance, pushing against each other, your Self blooming at the meeting point. Explosions from the collision. Now - brings you into the world - with desire, passion, hunger, curiosity, pain, tragedy, love hate, whatever whatever whatevvvver. Enjoying touch, a glass of wine and a good meal, a statue in a garden in Budapest or a quartet playing Vivaldi in the hills of Prague. Not going beyond this. Sucking the marrow outta these things. On bone at a time.
Maybe you should take some buttons of Peyote. the necessity of spiritual experiences in order to get beyond the petty...something which takes you out of your self in order to swim back inside. A transcending which is always a movement into something.

people getting caught up everywhere, trying to help other people in the wrong ways, as they fail to put one hand on their own lives. Most muddling in the affairs of another leads to disaster. None of us understand what we're doing. People just trying to lose their self in some activity which seems Good. An escape, a distraction. ..
Throwing a million dollars at a charity to escape the burden of being an asshole.
the issue, the power and powerlessness of committing to something..
I don't care about being a flake. My privilege is stamped on my hand, but i also play guitar and make my fingers bleed.
Everything will be done under Toad Murphy. I can go into the forest.
my friend just told me he fucked a stripper last night.
I met a guy named Nicholas who told me about his life, taught me how to play guitar and gave me enough bong rips to blow a hole in my brain.
I also spent the night in a new place last night. On a futon.
My roommate has a large dildo in the bathroom which i expect her to move today.

Dragon
Blood.