I’m writing an article on the growth of distilleries in Oregon. I’ve been writing poetry about the resurgence of drunken nights in NJ. Is there a connection? Hell if I know. Sometimes when I’m writing stuff that I know will find it’s way onto the blog I feel a bit like Neil Patrick Harris(I’m sorry if you got that), wrapping up that weeks adventure with a witty and contrived paragraph. I’ve got 10 minutes till The Simpsons are on, the writing ceases for a half hour, mandatory.

——-This space represents the half hour I spent watching The Simpsons.——-

After a half hour of comedy I’m still sitting here trying to synopsize the the new information of my current life and form a cogent narrative or metaphor to tie it all together. Sometimes that synapse isn’t there.

Lately, I’ve made an attempts to deal poker, work for a grocer, get a crappy retail job and write an article. Nothing has come from any of it, well nothing concrete, fully formed. My life right now is a collection of chaotic filaments in a light wind. They intermingle and break apart, stick to things and lead to divergent paths and sometimes linear routes. Mostly, I find myself staring off in some vain attempt at making things connect, trying to force epiphany through writing, drinking and wandering. But in the end it’s still a series random filaments floating in the Oregonian aether waiting for the cohesion of meaning.