It’s 3:33 A.M. I can’t tell you how much I dig those numbers. There’s something that strikes me about them. I almost always see the clock when it’s 3:33. Or the dramatic 3:32. I admit, sometimes, I just miss it, and see the gentle dénouement of 3:34. Whatever. It’s also on my license plate, 333 is. I just finished work on a prototype nature keyboard. It’s pretty cool, but still in development. Despite its simplicity, it’s still a milestone- so I feel pretty good laying down to sleep tonite. Sorry again for slacking on the journal, but hey. quit yer whining and go play with the keyboard already.
There’s something campy and demented about William Steffey’s Hot Rod Stigmata that reminds me of the Butthole Surfers if they could stand still for enough