Optional

When I was in high school (junior high?), I had a class where we would start each day just writing in a notebook. It could be a story, a poem, or just whatever was in your head at the moment. The following paragraphs are what popped out as I sat down, stared off into space, and let my fingers do their own thing. Reading them is entirely optional.

It is dark. Not the kind of darkness where you can't see anything, but where you can just make out fuzzy images. Just enough information that you can imagine something is there that you don't expect. Sometimes I think that I can see things in my path, but other times I stumble into things that I somehow missed.

After hours, days of haziness, I see a giant hole in the ground. It swallows what little light there is, and as I approach I can sense the light retreating away from me. After some time I realize I am in the hole. I am floating in nothingness, relaxed, but slightly afraid of what may come. I feel that I am falling, and I wonder, without much worry, "how fast am I falling?" and "will I hit the bottom soon or should I just enjoy the breeze?"

Such a nice breeze. I can throw a frisbee in that. Not at all gusty. Maybe if I put enough float on it, I could catch my own throw. But how do I run in this floating, non-space. And where the heck is my disk? "Don't tread on me," it says, with a little picture of a porcupine on it. I don't know what that really means, but it's one of my favorite disks. Kimball took my other disk to Mexico. I wonder if it will learn to speak Mexican.

On sixty minutes there was a program about "El sistem" in Venezuela. What a cool program! Get the kids off the streets and into an orchestra. If I had my own oboe, maybe I would go to Venezuela. I think that qualifies as "Dan Logic." That lightbulb hasn't come on for a while.

Having short hair is advantageous - my hair doesn't go so wild after running around outside.