In a moment I'll be venturing upstairs to clean up this house again. It's the last room left in my jihad of purity. Also, tomorrow is Haircut Day. Thank god. It's not that I can sport an afro but at times in the morning it feels dangerously close to it. And as everybody knows, there's nothing sexier than a white guy with an afro.

It's not that the beauty of these days is lost on me. Stepping outside, there was a faint buzzing of insects and traffic, a distant rumble of voices saying things that I couldn't make out, and the dull thump of bass coming from my room. It's a simple blend of summer.

Up in flames. It's that sort of phoenix-flavored divinity that I'm in the mood for. Burn and curl up like paper in the center of a flame. Maybe it's the heat that roams around outside my house restlessly like a pacing panther. It could be the prickling of caffiene coming around the corner, as I just brewed a cup to help me clean up this place. I have some sort of streak of energy that comes from nervousness / excitement / ambition / jealousy / introspection and oddly enough, a curious calm. It just turns in me and I can't decide if I want to take it out on something inanimate or take it out to dinner and get to know it better over a nice white wine. It seems to have any sort of form I want to give it. Hmm. Choices.

Intensity is an interesting thing. So are intentions.

one iron star,

Jared