The color for this week is orange. Which means absolutely nothing.

Pounding the table with the veracity of a small child who has suddenly realized strained peas are horribly disgusting and should be taken off the menu immediately.

I think I forgot a subject.

It will be hot, though. The city will warm up to baking proportions, radiating the heat of civilization, making the clouds so confused they go somewhere else to dump their load.

Everyone is out of school. There will be no learning for at least two months, if not three. Do not even try to remember anything of substance.

Routines will give way to variations on the routine. Those variations will develop their own holidays and greeting cards and ceremonial drinks. The drinks will help us all forget that we did this all yesterday, last week, in the corner of our minds.

Does this mean we'll all fall into static continuation of the normal?

Katiejuliejennyzoejunemayaprilprissyhissysissymakinmyheadhurtbad.

Maybe these times are just snapshots never saved into our digital cameras.

What happens to all the bad pictures no one chooses to print out or put onto their desktop at work? What about the out of focus shot of the bookcase, slightly slipping into a sea of surrealism? What about the incredibly clear picture of a blade of grass from the front lawn?

Everything is disposable. We mourn the loss of things we never intended to save. Just to feel something. Just to be able to say, yes, I have loved and lost as well. That fish I forgot to feed who died of starvation and continual shitting, boy that was a good fish.

The mountains and valleys mean something because they have a contrast. Otherwise, mountains and valleys would be just like everything else. And no one would care. There would be fewer outdoor living shops in the world.

If you got to play God for a week, would one of the first things on your list of things to do be to give your girlfriend bigger breasts? And couldn't you have done that without being God? Would you think to ask your girlfriend first? Because maybe she doesn't have the structure to support your fantasy. And did you think about all the shopping she'd have to do after your will has been done? If you actually were God, would you fix this fucked up situation we have half a world away? The burned and smoking ruin, burned and smoked in the name of You (all the different names You have)--would you do anything about that? Or would you just get your dog to use the toilet. Yeah, I don't want to see that movie either.

Become a machine gun for just a few seconds and you'll realize sex for a machine gun is being fired. Having those hot bullets in your body and then shooting them, burning with desire, one by one (but very quickly) into other bodies, maybe not intended to receive them. But your potential--your purpose--is to get those hot bullets into something else. That's all you want. Is that so wrong? Pull my trigger, baby. I'm all ready to go.

We're so proud of our ability to destroy things. We want to dismantle everything we don't like. We make sophisticated and technologically magnificent machines for the purpose of taking apart what has already been made. But we never think we should cut out the middle man. We want the things to be produced, just so we can take them apart. Violently if possible. That way we get money when it's produced and sold, then we get money to blow it up. It's kind of like double taxing, but this way we spread the money around a little bit. The middle men get their cut along with everyone else.

Are you looking? Are you paying attention. Did you see that over there? Isn't that weird? Kind of suspicious? A little out of the ordinary? Step on that fuck!

And she's always sitting there. Waiting. Sometimes she's waiting for me. Sometimes I don't make her wait so long. Sometimes one of us leaves before the waiting is done. Sometimes we get the message a few days after the event. Sometimes it seems like it's never gonna work, so why bother?

I've said all this before. You've heard me. We've talked about it. But I can't stop repeating. You can't stop listening. And it never ends.

Matt Worley is getting there.