This is where I'm at.

I will not tell you about the butter I made today. I will tell you that I made a butter and destroyed this butter shortly after I'd made it. I will tell you that the butter looked delicious, that it must have tasted wonderful, but even if I tasted it, I wouldn't have told you how it tasted, and maybe it didn't look delicious, maybe it looked terrible. Regrette is watching me. I bet she wished she could type.

Create. And destroy. Know and forget. Know. And know only. This is where I'm at. If you eat a soft pretzel and it's hard, is it still a soft pretzel? What am I getting at? Where was I? If you read a book but remember none of the story, what have you done instead?

Sometimes, it takes a long time to wake up. Today, I have not yet woken up. I am still sleeping. With my eyes open. I am being, somewhere between. I am so far away from where I am. I am making butter and destroying it because it is the most natural thing to do in this state.

The kitten is gone. Ronny stopped by and asked if I was on drugs. Sleepy, I said. Warden took one last sniff of the kitty before letting out a howl. Regrette walked into the bathroom and pooped. We listened to something on the radio. Not quite a song. More like a speech. A man purred, Purr-sue, over and over again.