{22 (Hamilton)}

the gap between "should" and "do" is a yawning chasm; attempts to cross from the real to ideal are defied by physics, elegant half-parabolas terminating in the confusing darkness between. i wait, knowing what my current-doing does, and i think, knowing in theory what my should-be-doing will do. but how to apply?

the unseasonable warmth has been usurped by flash-flood and winter-storm warnings. as we drove through vistas of cloud-kissed mountains and moisture-laden fields with not an iota of blue in sight, i happily thought i might have been transported to some other countryside. running water, where have you been all my life?

this yearned for wet landscape? idealized. confounding my plans, scattering my resolve (had i any to begin with?). all that remains is my burning lust for capital and its myriad fetters.

its been a decade! at what point exactly did i begin my transformation into this loathsome creature?