There is a whole new variety of Calliopean tofu in the supermarket. It is still tofu, however, and I refuse to consider it any different. Vegetarianism is no incentive to enjoy tofu. I wander over to the section containing fruits. This week they have pomegranates, but they are oh a whopping two and a half dollars each but I never can finish them and winter has dragged on far too long already. I will reconsider buying these pomegranates. I am mildly annoyed by the TV overhead shouting recipes at me. Oranges, tangerines, clementines, they are all orange so what is the matter if I am to choose one over the other? Instead I will buy kiwis and truly nobody will be content.

People are not so much content to fill billboards with nonsense as they are to fill them with advertisements. I notice this over the course of fifteen thousand billboards between me and Long Island. The only people on the road at 3 AM are either truck drivers, insane or drunk. I am none of these, however, which makes me a deity. The highway is composed entirely of wool to be sewn. I have a better idea: I will suggest to you a list of States to speak the names of and you will speak the names of those states. This game is boring.

She moves her head around when she is excited like she is eating off of the floor. This is somehow endearing. More on this topic later.

We are told not to eat off of the floor. There are bugs. Indeed there are bugs, but are we to question the benevolence of the bugs? Truly they themselves might be offended by our reluctance. Instead we will clean the floor carefully before eating off of it. Are we truly to find so much beauty in things only from idiosyncrasy? Is that in itself beautiful? Aberration? Is a house filled with exotic animals truly more welcoming? Nonetheless, she is full of raccoons and so I will cherish her. She tells me that we are not to swim at this beach because the water is full of bacteria and people have become sick by swimming in it. The beach is connected to the harbor. The harbor is connected to the ocean. Water flows freely. Something to do with local rainfall. There are too many factors that I don't really understand. There is another car in the parking lot for the beach full of high schoolers smoking pot. We wander over to the shack and pound on the door until an alarm is set off and then leave the other kids to take responsibility. I offer to play some music but I forgot that I have filled all my CDs with static. An unfortunate mistake. I rest my head in her breast and sleep for several days. There are centuries full of things yet unseen. I will paint for you every tragedy of the future and you can have them but you can't show them to anyone.

Please follow the instructions on the cabin door:
1) The highway is composed of wool. This is a truism.
2) Everybody will disapprove of your work because it is esoteric. This is also a truism.
4) Snow is actually made of cotton and it melts because it is so small.
5) Contradiction is actually truth.
6) People hate your work because it sucks.

I am having some trouble following them but am quite reluctant to ask for assistance. Am I to question the integrity of the instructions themselves?

I am going to write you a letter, God. Dear God, if you're so tough, why don't you own up to your actions? I think I discover some universal truth about cigarettes that will allow me to quit but that truth is only useful if I have the strength to apply it but what use is the truth if I have the strength anyway, and is the truth even true if it doesn't stop me from smoking? I haven't had a cigarette all day. I came at five in the morning near a Long Island diner in the dawn. She orders a coffee and I order a toasted bagel with no toppings. I regret this decision immediately upon receiving the bagel because I have not slept and have been staying awake on caffeinated gum and my stomach is in knots either from this or this, Melissa, there's only one other group of people in the diner and for some reason they've decided to sit at the next table over. As retribution, we will loudly ridicule their conversation. What use is writing songs if you use the same melody? What use is sitting at the same table week after week, ordering the same shrimp casserole?

The sun rises over the sound and the billboards like giants are illuminated. I have discovered anxiety even in static and empty roads. I won't adequately put this into words but tried anyway. I had the sun atop her stomach and the head basks in the light, the speakers sung mid-morning sparkrest on what listening.