Posthuman Blues

I slept in late today and suffered a bout of recurring dreams: something about a train ride through a surreal and devastated Germany: fungal statuary emerging from the ground like drowning relics under a gray sky. Then I got up and lingeringly checked my email, managed to put together something vaguely resembling breakfast, and sat on my futon in not-entirely-unpleasant existential stupor. This is typical Saturday morning behavior.

The temperature drops. I'm at loose ends, wondering whether or not to brave the weekend crowd and enjoy (?) a cinnamon latte. I ate Mexican tonight in a place evidently designed by midgets. Pinatas grazing my forehead like imbecilic cherubs, chairs and tables like furniture designed for use in a tin-can Moon base. Ranks of ceramic pigs with ironic smiles...