  Mate is starting to settle into my system and I am getting a pleasant painful buzz. There is something sweet about tea in the morning, when you are killing time, which I don't have much of at this point.
Last night the sun was setting and there was a tree in full bloom that it lit. The tree had white blossoms covering it, and in the evening sunset they looked like perfect cream. The moon hung above the tree four fingers up, and I gazed at it while so many just walked by, and they were in the dream, and I felt real.
Where have I been these last few weeks? Will the newness of everyday ever get boring again? I hope not. It is like finding red wax in your bed, just a drop, and it is like feeling the shivering of life. I have had many moments of waiting, and they have felt full. Did they ever feel that way before? Moments, seconds that strech out in my mind like a thousand moon rises, moments that are cool and perfect like salt air.
The strangeness is starting to settle as a beauty, even the ugly is looking quietly true. I went to a place that was familiar in my sleep last night. I feel like I have been wandering in the same dirty slightly abandoned evening corner of a city for a while now... Where will it lead? 
