I can still hear the electronic coughing of the space heater buzzing to life like morning yawns and a dissatisfaction with the waking state after the vast expanse of international travel dreams in those bleary states of rest. There was a quaint doppler effect, the electronic buzzing fading in and out, in order to radiate an orange glow of heat. Any poor creatures who may have resided on that piece of metal felt the heat as a comfort until their tiny abdomens pop like balloons in the fierce fire hazard shield of the space that space heater heated. The electronic buzz and these imagined pops define what my ears experienced on coldest winter nights, aside from soft jazz emanating from a speaker near my head.
As a side note... I opened this blank page (for typing as fast as my rage pervades) and considering what it would be like to advertise these rants as evidence of my past work for future freelance employers. I realized grotesquely how this may not be 'real work' just as a recorded jam session is mostly a practice and an outpouring of ideas to mull over at a later, less intoxicated, time. These are the things that perhaps should not be released (unless incredible!). Stuffy literary people would probably disown my words as evidence of true work. I break rules of grammar. I am aware that I break rules. I do not question the way my mind and body connects for the execution of these ideas. That being said. I spend most time free writing and very minimal time constructing pieces to publish in literary rags or magazines or as columns on musical blogs. Then I can introduce the question of motive. I'm not going to just write up an album review for myself. (maybe I should though. practice.) In college, I had the motivation to write through assignments. Even if the assignments were mostly nonsense in order for me to get a good head on my shoulders for writing. These directed moments of deliberate word choice and 14 page essays with constant revision and reimagination are evidence of my capacity to write anything for the 'real world' but then it is a question of speed. Maybe I can simply study conventions in greater detail. Know why sentences need all of the elements they do. Learn to recognize a fragment as I write one.... but I digress.
Summer sounds like an old black-lunged A/C unit high on the wall activated by a light switch. It's loud. It needs a filter change before more constant use as the ice caps melt and the sweltering sun comes closer to southern California with a vengeance. You've done this to your atmosphere you fools now I attempted to make you crazy or burn your skin as you gleefully bake in my rays.
