I'm re-using pics from years ago - so what. I'm likely restating the obvious, also. It's what happens when the mind ages and surrenders. Try it, it's post-modern.
Today we go see Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan, if they can both bear the heat. It'll be about a hundred degrees or more. I almost don't want to go, but the tickets were expensive and we both want to show the boy what effect the 20th century had on people. I just received a text message warning me about the hundred degree heat. It made no mention of the humidity. A youth must have sent it.
I re-stringed one of my acoustic guitars this morning, the one that I play the most. It's a nice guitar though I treat it like an old "beater." I am often surprised at how long ago new strings were needed, but that I've acclimated to the sound of dull and aged strings. I become lazy about so much lately. Everything becomes a type of work, the philosophers call it play. Philosophers - will they ever finally figure things out. They should get to work, pull their thumbs out.
I must have stated all of this before. It seems impossible that any of this is novel.
Predictability is a hallmark of the cursed.
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