Bjork sings Who is it (Carry my joy on the left, carry my pain on the right)

Interesting times, interesting times. In semi/pseudo-astral projection mode, observing me, observing people, observing my environs. I sat under the young trees, smoking away my dour morning. I am safe there, no one to touch me, no one to scrutinize me.

If I will go with my realization that I manufacture my sadness, then I have an equally imposing chance to manufacture my happiness.

The leaves have started to fall in the humid afternoons. Floods will soon wash them away. They will (and should) empty out real soon or I don't know what I'll do.

Paul observed me elbowing my sadness, as how Sandra Cisneros puts it in The House on Mango Street. (Well, at least that's the poignant line that Mykel sent me one time.)

I manage to manage myself day to day. Pushing to push myself to be.

No other place than here. No other time than now.