About what does one write, when one has as much ability to give a shit as in impacted bowel?  Which is to say, I am….  I can’t.  I just…can’t.  And yet, I feel…compelled…to express myself.  With absolutely no concomitant compulsion regarding subject matter.  I can stir up no definite opinions, nothing that seems worthy of expression.  Let alone anything that seems to require such effort.  I do no give a flying prolapsed anus about any of it.  Which is almost certainly little more than a defensive reaction to the wholesale slaughter of human/humane ideals that we see every day.  But even recognizing that, and acknowledging the vanishingly small urge to express myself, and taking onto account my inherent laziness….

I can’t.

I also, it would appear, can’t stop.

If I had just a liiiiiiiitle more drive, I could be a passable politician.

Fuck that shit.

And good night.