People keep giving me ideas. In the one week that I really, really can't afford to use them. The bastards. I've sat there uninspired when I (thought I) had the time, and now the walls are caving in the bastards don't stop. Perhaps it's the magically active section of the brain that kicks in with random connections. Activated under stress and adrenaline, it points out daft little throwaway things and random connections to the forebrain. The primary architect of mystic consciousness. I need to learn how to turn this on at will...
Fuck. There I go again.
