Sprouting ideas with roots like weeds getting in the spaces of everything, wherever there is room to breathe. These ideas contributing to the mediocrity of the day and tinges the sun with a little more life. How lovely is the liveliness of all that is living. Humble submission into a lot of unprotected facial expressions. The pancakes on this plate suddenly look so sad. The sadness of the happiness has no idea what to do with the trigger of a warm gun. The privacy of the living room, not so private. My private parts in the living room. The absolute resolution of all that is dissolute and the pixels on the image half slacked to present a more candid moment in history instead of the guzzling gooey eyed one it likes to force feed down the wrong pipe. The ideas talking over your thoughts, your thoughts infiltrated with old ideas, believed to be left behind at that party in those pants with that guy and his haircut, but they never left, split seconds, elbow room to escape the colliding energy of ideas that never leave your collar.