Verby day

I am writing this missive on the evening of 28 October 2012. A passable Sunday. Here's what I did in order:

1. ate scrambled eggs and bacon
2. sat on the bus for exactly one hour and 
3. read The Atlantic
4. bought groceries at the supermarket
5. placed clothes in a washing machine
6. cooked up a storm
7. nibbled on a medicinal marijuana chocolate bar
8. removed clothes from a washing machine
9. listened a supremely moving podcast
10. ironed shirts
11. saw Giants fans celebrating
12. washed dishes
13. lay in bed
14. typed out words

In order words, I'm pretty high right now. Thanks for reading. 

Stream-of-consciousness recipe for brownies

Ingredients:

• Baptize my birthday
• 1 cup sweet death's surrender
• Equal parts tale untold sifted with story unspeakable
• 200g shortening
• The Rage within an old man's fist
• 4 tsp sebum
• Might
• 2 eggs
• Rieux's doubt in a blood- and phlegm-soaked nugget on the cold tile floor.

Method:

1. Striptease my funeral.
2. Revel scot and devour the elephant sutures break.
3. Mix vigorously like blood and love do mix and stare at your hands in horror.
4. Stare at your hands.
5. Stare at your hands in horror.
6. Beat in eggs slowly. Wake with a single thought that feels like a dull guillotine against your pinch-sealed throat. That thought is "pre-heat oven to 350 degrees."
7. And that's when I realized that alienation is not a place. It is a binding poison, as pervasive in your mouth like saliva.
8. Bake at the temperature of desire. Let cool. Let die.

Yield: 24