(Although this is really a fragment from yesterday written off-line, I'm posting it anyhow, for the sake of my blog narrative.)

The internet is down at the German tavern, forcing me to start this blog entry on Word, which is alright as I can’t remotely figure what to say. I’m hoping the Internet comes back on here by the time I am drunk enough to just ramble in the corridors of my mind. The last thing I need to do is bemoan the troubles at work or money matters, as that diverts from the abstractions, since those are what is real. But I also don’t need to go into some philosophical interpretation of some greater thing than my work, because that also diverts from where I need to be. It’s so hard to be where I want to be, since that location is internal, and if I define it; I try to force that place to manifest. Not like I could really see it right now. I’m realizing that I am doing many things necessary to live freely, but I’ve done it by somehow circumventing my intellect to do so, at the cost of direct perception, therefore the emotional impact, of said acts. What I do is not what I say, or more over, what I think. Picking daffodils around a sleeping man-eating tiger.