Scattered thoughts: January.

How often do you have a thought that seems so perfect and personal only to later find out it is someone else's. And then our tastes change and it isn't even your thought anymore, you think the opposite. Everything is broken and then, without warning they fit together and there are no gaps. Then the next day atoms are scrambled and you are alone. You're confused because it's a cycle but it doesn't feel like one so it's also not a cycle and it makes everything seem fleeting as well as lasting. But it turns out that there is no sin in cycles that aren't cyclical. But I might think differently tomorrow.

If I ever wrote a book, it'd be on grey pages with grey type. But I probably will never write a book. I can imagine characters but nothing ever happens to them, they just meander through their world which is conveniently located in my noggin. Maybe I'm just inventing a new form of fiction called super-hyper-realism where nothing happens and no one is good or bad no matter how hard they try.

It's been cold but I don't mind. It makes me read books at a wonderful pace because I never want to leave my bed. But sometimes I have to.

Maybe we could all go up to a stranger and tell them all our secrets and let them tell us ours and give them a hug. We could start the best kind of revolution. Because it turns out that it's perfectly all right to be sad sometimes. Or maybe I mean lonely, I sometimes confuse those two words.

Wouldn't it be great to go live in a cabin with everyone you love? And then they can bring everyone that they love too. And everyone that they love is welcome as well. And so on. Then eventually the whole world will be in the cabin. Maybe the whole world is the cabin and that's why you should always be nice. Because if someone's in the cabin it means that someone loves them.

It turns out everyone's as lost as you are, they've just learned to hide it a bit better. If you're a nomad you're never lost and you're always home. Maybe that's why I want I hitch-hike across the country, because I won't know what lost is and I'll always be home. I feel more at home on long drives or deep in conversation than I probably ever will anywhere I sleep.

Forget the facts, but always remember the feeling.

Nothing is as bad or as good as you could ever imagine it. But it's real and that makes it both better and worse than you could ever imagine it.