For some reason on Saturday or Sunday night I began reading into John Milton's Paradise Lost. I think it's because I was trying to remember the phrasing and source of "The mind is its own place, itself can make a heaven of hell and a hell of heaven." As it goes, I was ruminating upon Satan's line from a literal, theological perspective.
God is love. Even at god's angriest, god wouldn't throw someone into a pit of fire because god still loves those who turned against him. Satan, on the other hand, after having all that time in god's presence in heaven under the assumption both are omniperfect then anywhere else would seem like a burning pit of sulphurous fire.
What I am arguing here is Satan being cast from heaven into hell is akin to being forced out of one's home at the shore in Toms River and now living in the 'hood out in Neptune. Neptune is different, and some may think it's a step down from Toms River, but Neptune isn't anywhere close to Camden.
From my analogy, one can discern a parallel with my life.

When I visited Leah to help her trim the cat's nails, I was thinking more about Paradise Lost and making this one story idea into a riff on Paradise Lost. Since it's super-secret I won't divulge more here. But I also thought about my super-secret story idea having designs as an epic poem for the 21st century but winding up as a short story would be funny.
Also learned poetry is about beats, not just rhymes and structure. Been wracking my mind over this one writing style by a science fiction author that is like poetry. Theodore Sturgeon?
Just did a quick search of my email, Theodore Sturgeon and his metric/rhythmic prose. I tried to look it up but everything I read came across vague to me.

Okay as I write this paragraph it's 11/9/2021 at 9:34 a.m.. I started getting stoned before finishing this entry. Kinda forgot my gist, but so it goes.

It doesn't have to be good. It just has to be daily.

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