Whiskey Business.

Into a strange drift once again, that seemingly inexorable descent into bitter, bloody, shit-eating stagnation. Breathe it in, deep down, until any further advances approaching the diaphragm prove painful and joyless. Breathe out the filth and condemnation of a strange dualistic day-to-day, both eternal, transient and horrifying. "May you live in interesting times." I can almost feel a freeze in peristalsis, a gentle tug where the liver should be, and a nagging behind the eyes as though strange larvae with unknown faces propagate a dark and foreign purpose.



This is my good mood. I'm foregoing sleep tonight to preserve it. Off to read for 6 hours, take a brief shower, do a bit of cleaning then brave the heat to find purpose. I'd ask for luck but...

 

... and if I had any to give, I'd give it to you.

May cold, unfeeling random chance work in your favour, rather than against.