Soaked my noodles for too long so now they're like flourballs.
Bleagh.
It's harder than I expected. I can't get my mind off it. Everything seems to inspire images of recollection. The touch of a flower, glimpse of a word and breath of a song. All. Elements of life and art create more art sustain art and reduce art to a mere sentimental slush.
I'm looking at the mess of chicken, flourballs and discoloured veggies. Maybe this picture is a representation of the inner Ariel.
Photographic glimpses of memories and prognostics continue to chase us as if we live in a Truman reality.
Father, you are King over the flood.
I will be still and know You are God.
