Action and reaction fail

Maybe it's the overthinking. It could be the previously-sedentary-but-now-overworked thinking faculties. Or perhaps it's the sacred need to be away.

You can say that a clean slate is a gift, but I say it's merely a concept, the realization of which only belongs to the hopefulness of optimism. I look at pimple marks and I am reminded of how devastatingly real the dirt of Manila air is. I look at my wallet and ponder upon the nullness of owning. I look at the pebbles outside our laboratory and am struck by the awesome power of time, space, and memory. Maybe I am consuming alarmingly high levels of MSG.

Ahh, the sea. I know the waters will be murky. I've seen the sausages of sea urchins lurking beneath pockets of  smelly basins. The water does not flow. The water does not like illumination. The water is embracing a rocky stretch of waste and remains, of death and survival. I wonder if I could see life in the water. Or if survival would be everything there is.

My flash drive is a whore. But not as much as my shoes. I hope it's not too late to buy a condom for my sanity.