The Fog

I was up early again.  Enjoying coffee in the dark at a slightly wet picnic table.  As the sky brightened, the fog became apparent. 


Black Flag songs ran through my head.  They usually do when I'm in this sort of mood, but this time it is different.  This time it is good. 

The sense of freedom, whether it is real or based upon an illusion, is a very powerful thing.  It gives you a sense of self that often only comes when you are holding a gun. 

The fog that slithers through the trees feed them.  It gives those gigantic redwoods the moisture they need to grow.  At a certain point, you lose sight of all the objects in it.  They slowly fade to nothing, swallowed by the gray.

The coffee is not my usual brand.  It's got hazelnut in it.  Not a fan. 

I've put out word that I'm selling a lot of my stuff.  I've gotten a ton of e-mails overnight.  It is refreshing.  I'll unload, free up space, and have less stuff to move when the time comes. 

I head inside for a shower.  Put on GG Allin.  Loud.  Later in the morning, a commercial advises me that if I fail to watch Frasier five times a week I'll experience medical symptoms.  I wonder who the fuck comes up with that shit, and who takes it to heart.  Probably the same brand of idiot. 

And now the day begins.  The morning calls for me.  A siren song.  A reminder of where I want to be and how I want to get there. 

Daybreak ...

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