I’m almost done with the sewcrates.com redesign. If all goes well, I’ll make the switch this weekend. I’m excited about the new design. Think simple blues and white spaces.

What follows are today’s translated thoughts.

My mind is whirling, shapes unveiling in a twisted darkness. Accomplished: a light descends, spotlighting the dirty masses; their dirt isn’t on clothes or skin. They imprint their soul with their decadence.

I speak and beg others to decode my missives dipped in egg batter. The soda tastes of medicine; I do not know that soda will cure what ails me.

“She’s going to be a poster girl for her school,” her grandma says, with her blonde hair limping off her head and mixing with the darkening gray of old age. Her face appears elongated, stretched to peek through closed windows. She painted her face with unnatural roses. Pearls hang like hooked worms on her flabby ears. She looks out through invisible glasses, which enlarge her dying brown eyes.

Descriptions of the world cry for sharing. Am I the same person who counts fallen matchsticks and dictionaries? No. It’s not the counting but the winnowing and sharing.

Shortness. Brief tidbits shared by squared oranges, the juices sucked dry by corrupt spirits. I reach for deepness and I cut my hand on grease. Noxious liquids drip from my sores to feed the hungry earth. Rocks hurtle near home. I greet them and shake clean the welcome mat.

Experimenting before perfecting is like dancing before dressing.

It’s a lot to think about what to write daily. What to record and what to let get away. What informs me and what moves me an inch to the left.

Description of what I’m doing. Why? I wasn’t a good storyteller but I liked the words. As I walk, I pick leaves, bending and breaking them until I release the damp, broken pieces into the wind. Red branches droop all around me like curtains for a bathtub.

An old man peddles uphill and falters. He wears a helmet and bright glasses. His feet bend vertical as he tries to push against the hill. His wheel turns and he falls over. He spins the bike around and flies downhill. He wasn’t trying to ride to the top; he wanted the flight down.

The diamond blue sky shines before the disaster.