I know I ought to be explaining my trip, thrilling the details and elaborating the moments that bore little importance, however may be contorted into great stories, and say and tell this and that about the great city, but I’m just too tired for that now. My head is so cluttered with phrases and names, characteristics and ideas that I can’t possibly re-tell a story that’s been, piece by piece, retold a dozen times already. I have new stories in my head, or maybe it’s the real one morphing into a writable fiction based on non-fiction (as most novels are). At any rate, the details of my trip will either have to wait, or might not ever come except on pages in a scrapbook. It’s late now; even later for me when trying to decipher exactly which time zone I’m following. None, I think, for nothing has become pattern or reliant to time at all these past days. I think I like it best that way, with the negligence of time. It is here now important to inform you, sympathetic reader, that this entry serves no purpose or duty except as a cleansing ritual to clear my head of its lousy syntax in preparation of better beginnings that promise middles and ends. I read a book—picked up and finished in its entirety—in roughly two days. The inspiration in that book on top of the real-life adventures taking place have drive me to a madness of words. One such as I should never travel (or be left anywhere) without so much as a notebook and pen. I think of all the wonderful riffs and ideas that came so brilliantly, now forgotten and lost, and wonder somberly how many masterpieces (or at least descent pieces of work) have been lost to the tides simply because someone was without a pad and pen. I’m plum out of notebooks I think, not that it matters much now with computer access at home, but I still think I’ll get one—a little pocket one—just so that I may carry it with me wherever I go for Muse never lets me know when or where we shall meet. At any rate, it is far past my due and for this night, I’m done. Tomorrow I shall relapse into the world I’ve come to know and love—a lonely place of love—and perhaps get something worthy accomplished. Carrie