Summers in Anhedonia are so goddamn hot, dear reader…it’s ridiculous.  And people just walk around acting like nothing’s wrong.  It’s perfectly obvious nothing is supposed to actually live here.  Maybe the spiders and scorpions and buzzards and shit, but intelligent life?  Fuck no.  Yet here we are.
I got a lot of words down, in spite of the atmospheric fires outside.  It’s funny…other writers and artists I know who live in other parts of the world where there are actually seasons, they all disappear into their studios at the beginning of November and sometime near the end of April they emerge with a new book or album or whatever.  Exact opposite here.  I’m not going outside again until Halloween.  It would be nice to be waving a new book around when that happens.

N.P.: “The Sea King” – Żywiołak