I threw another canvas on the wall, it is becoming something like Mascasio's Expulsion, inbetween I study. Attic is backwords. A Mess. I've been eating pretzels all day. I threw a frozen bagel in the microwave and toasted it and had cream cheese on it. I drank some orange tangerine juicy juice. I slept in. Paintings are crashing down. Moszart is static on the classical station. What is before us today? Why does one want to always stay in? The day is cold. Gray tones in the sky, silver drips of rain, dark wet branches, the squirrels slip and fall, there is a flood of water in the garbage cans, heavy to pull, the hems of jeans wet till morning, assignments late, my mind a "fuzzygraph", a broken slate, I could fall in the mud, lay there till the sky is on fire.