June 3, 2013

Yesterday notable for the things I did not do. Each thing I did was beset with idiotic complications, so perhaps it was for the best.

The elderberries are ten feet tall and clouded with white blossoms.

I’m not mistaking for travel anxiety the whopping anxiety I feel. It’s all about Lincoln. Everything rests on one thing, and the universe’s record for yielding to me the fruits of my labor is not good. Nor is my record of non-attachment to the fruits of labor. There we clash upon that darkling plain.