Posthuman Blues

Great weather today. Gibsonian dead television sky. Two functioning fountains; receding ice. I bought Jenny Randles' "The Truth Behind the Men in Black"...giant metal donuts in the sky over Maury Island? This weekend was criminally short. Ominous contrails on the covers of newspapers, the smell of thawing sewage hovering like a painful memory above Brush Creek.

I feel poised in the brink of a familiar existential malaise. A vague sense of nostalgia and vertiginous longing like the prescient tickle in the back of your throat when a cold's coming on...