robotwisdom2

These summer nights drain my kinetic energy for the following day. How is it that summer seems to make everything go in slow motion (at least to me)? I feel I could melt into my recliner. The ubiquitous white noise that is year-round becomes a frenzied, panasonic juggernaut that threatens to engulf all free space in a lethargic, calamitous din. My mind dons the mask of ethereal presence not quite here nor there. The question of human universality becomes almost possible in the riotous self-expansion that is summer. So what if yearly temperatures keep rising? We used to believe in the heat-death of the universe; perhaps we have now localized it. My A.C., my personal Maxwell's Demon, remains my environmental sacrifice of comfort over stable, eco-systemic nature. My ease eats away at the UV and Gamma-Ray aegis. These are the words of boredom fried ruthlessly on oven-top pavement.
So let me say this: Nights in summer are worthwhile, for they bring infinite possibilities within seven to eight hours of easy, breezy, hazy, lazy activity. Sleep all day, stay up all night if you can. The Sun is too focused on his own greatness to miss you--terribly.