Old tradition I learned while running the Twitter account for the fortean site is saying 'white rabbit' first thing on the morning of the first of a month for luck during that month. Sometime early this morning I woke and repeated, "I hate you, Leah. I hate you." My heart sank because I realized I fucked up saying 'white rabbit'.
In that dark, limnal space of wakefulness I tried to figure out a loophole to unfuck my intent.
"Maybe the sun has to be up?"
"Maybe I have to say it when I get out of bed?"
And so forth.

One anxious habit I've developed is playing a free collection of logic games on my phone. If I successfully complete a play through my five favorites then I've staved off something 'bad', whatever that could be. Same goes with Wordle and a Wordle-clone with unlimited plays. Ended up fucking all my games.


So at work I started to get anxious, project a lot of negativity on perceived situations at work, then got myself to relax by affirming, "Luck is what you make, not what the universe gives you." Around lunchtime I made my CT scan appointment to see if I did pass my kidney stone since my urologist says there's a chance it's still bouncing around in my bladder rather than having ridden the yellow log flume after my emergency room visit. Plus I figured out I can get my bloodwork done on the weekend, even though I gotta drive into Eatontown rather than stay in Neptune.

Another realization I had was being asked, "Did you write that?" isn't a bad thing. Sometime after lunch I felt a bit of inspiration, thought of Charles Bukowski, and wrote the following:

We live in challenging times.
Anything is possible.
Yet everything is impossible.
As they always were.
Nobody rolls the dice.
Just a sure-fire win.
Buying out a bet with spare change
Pocketing the rest if the bet wins.
Who am I to judge?
Too afraid to look for new work.
Too afraid to talk to women.
Too afraid to go to a new bar.
Yet those heads of Cerberus aren't as fierce as others.

Sent that to my friend Wednesday and Sarah. Wednesday asked, "Did you write that?" My kneejerk response was to be defensive but the reflexive response was startlingly easy to quell and turn it around in my head. Reckon he was impressed by what I wrote.
Sarah didn't respond but she doesn't tend to be responsive and that's perfectly okay. I know where I stand with her and vicey-versey.

As for my inspiration, I was thinking about how publishing houses are consolidating into one. How there really is no room for outsider art in American culture anymore. Sure someone might be a blip, get some traction on social media or reddit (god help them), but eventually fade into obscurity because there's no money to be made off them. Those other heads of Cerberus are big corporations, billionaires, and other gatekeepers of American society and culture. Ideologically I despise those people. I was banned from Twitter late in 2022 because I called for the death of billionaires and nuking Zillow. Why give a voice to someone who actively hates you? Censorship exists, despite the first amendment, and it aligns with the Citizens United ruling where money is considered free speech. You're free to say anything you want if you can afford it, or the consequences.

Reading my Bukowski-esque doggerel again, I'm not very happy with it and find the piece to be kinda high-school. Earnest, but misguided. Probably needs some polish some day.

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