what slasher lurks in the fog?

 I was setting my thinkmeat to something, thinking of something unusually nice to say, so as to boost everyone's spirits.

Nothing immediately sprang to mind, though I had something earlier, but in a flitter of other concerns, I let that slip into a mental fog.

I was reading in a book today like the collected fuckery of the world is all a nest of interlocked fingers, like some hands connected, and in a time when we're social distancing.

I was giving a lecture today on a familiar, well-worn topic of interest, that being surveillance and popular discount stores.  They were looking at me like I was crazy, but I'm like hey, hath a not a Jew eyes?

Hath not the republic a set of great, big bug eyes?

Hath not one swerve to dodge the blade, or likewise, the blade not to shatter itself on the skeletal framing?

The collected milk-truckery of the world, how it all bounces back inevitably, with a jello-neck head bob, flailing limbs and random thoughts that bounce into one another like intermingling stations of the wireless set.