autumnal middle-aged... shout... out... free-... -write.

we
come at this in all lower-case shivering indoors on a fall day which feels like autumn and it might be something called novemberer... like if dumb and dumber were a sequel and a month all at once, but not fun and none too hollywoord... 
pretty-much every-everything is weighted. 
moves, smells, and seconds are rolling around in batshit.

when there is no way to kill time properly there is always netflix - the opium of the 20-teens. ever since the streaming streamt... 
well, there you are missing parties because you passed out watching STAR TREK DISCOVERY and struggling to explain what the eff happened (to yourself, to others, to the so-called universe) and resume a well-intentioned but half-assed video project...
with every intention of honig it down, of course of course.
the latest eternal mantra of every gen x/y american: "it's fine. everything is fine." falls flat on its face and in just a few shot years size 32 waist graduated for 33, 34 skips 35 completely - because who knew trhey even made those - and is headed towards 36...  like a football player the size of a refridgerator (nicknamed 'the refridgerator') running in exremely slow, apatethic motion towards no goal at all. 
that's the freedom.

that, and (in the most boring news possible) the cursor on the screen fails to revel itself on most occasions.