Not that you care, but today I’m feeling groggy, disoriented, sleepy, and vaguely disgruntled. It’s like all of the joy and hope I felt yesterday has left me with a hangover.
the best lack all conviction wandering, alone, dazed and confused in hedge mazes hewn from legal speak and wishful thinking. They stumble into dead ends and queer sand traps, gopher holes to snap their ankles, and hear the echoes of faroff voices, rising and falling like waves, over the clink of expensive silverware, the music of casual laughter, a muted string quartet. No wonder they lose all sense of direction and purpose, faced with such frustration, turning over and over into blind alleys lined with vicious branches, prevarications on a single theme of entrapment. Now, as it gets dark, it seems that distant party has been thrown only as a mirage, to torture these best few with the hope of release; this game works to keep these last persistent seekers circling endlessly back to the center, where a sarcastic bronze statue, mottled with age and cast long ago with the name TRUTH across its base, poises over an empty fountain, pissing air into air.
