7:42 a.m.

I woke up this morning with a full bladder and a tinny bunch of notes floating through the crack in my window from the damaged speaker those funny little Tai Chi people use during their exercises. The time was 7:42. I decided to call it quits for reasons I can't remember now. But it has not been wholly wasted.

I began work on a short story that I've been thinking about for some small amount of time here and there (mainly there, in postmodernism class). I didn't exactly know how to go about it, and still don't, but right now I've got it set up as a sort of frame story in which these two cops come across the journal of one of the men that recently was taken out by lethal injection. Then they read the journal. It's a really detailed log of his thoughts in the months before he kills his nameless friend. He discusses the different ways he might go about it, weighing all the different aspects of each method, including the aesthetic value. I haven't thought of all the ways yet, but I want each of his descriptions of them to be very explicit and perhaps to reveal small details of his character and/or of the situation that he's in which hint at his motive, but will be easily missed if you get lost in the gory details.

Then there will be an ending frame featuring at least one of the cops, but I definitely have not gotten there yet.

It needs to be written.

Then, I want to write a poem called Moons. I know that sounds like a kiddie title, but it appeals to me for some reason and I want it to be good and long. Worthy of the name which sounds really cool when it's spoken and takes a little bit longer to say than it should.