Damn. I had a strange day.
I was slightly buzzed the entire time with my left and right toes in two different pools. It was a friend’s birthday. I was out in Austin at one of those arcade places because Austin is a playground for adults who still watch Nickolodeon and try to outcool one another.
I’ve been reading Gerald Murane. I did this thing. He wrote a short story about a library of books he had and why he bought them, if he read them, and his entire collection. Most of the books he never read. And the ones he did read he read twenty years, sometimes thirty years before. He had too many books. So he would stand in front of each one, stare at the spine, close his eyes, and see what images came about. If he didn’t see anything he gave them away. To a landfill. In secret. Because he was embarrassed to be doing what he was doing. He claimed his masterwork would be to stare at the books he kept and write a book connecting all the images together. Which is what I guess literature is. It’s just the combination of connected images and the writer describes each one as beautifully as he can. I did the same thing, but with pinball machines, and out came a lot of bizarre things, and now I feel so strange.
Anyways, I don’t got nothing. I gotta go. Sound off in the comments below to discuss whatever, Texans-related or not. Just remember the standard commenting rules apply.