Experiment Day 42: The Engine Core

I slept briefly but well. I dreamed in Italian, and in my dream I understood most of it. I'm at work now, a bit early. The sky was cloudy and it strained to turn from black to dusty yellow as the sun rose behind the mountain. The dust drifts upwards.

This is the hour I used to write. This is the hour in which I now write. This is the hour I didn't write. This hour is all hours.

In one of my journals, I used to start with the alphabet. I'd go Ahab Bradbury Chaucer Dickinson Edgar Fahrenheit Gloat Hamstrung Ipswich Journeyman Kilogram Lout Mosaic gNostic Ostrich Planetarium Quartered Render Slake Tongue Umpteenth Vigorous Wainscot Xygote Zeno's paradox.

Something like that.