081313 #copperhead And hungry. And could really go for a coffee. Oh, there's nothing quite like a coffee at the right moment. At the not-quite-right moment, it's just another of those things that exist to fill up extra space in what we think of as the world. An unintentional, non-mindful coffee is basically another cigarette filter not decomposing on some sad, faded asphalt next to a cracked curb stop with rusty rebar poking out. Just the stuff of the world, you know, the stuff without which everything would look like a primitive wire-framed hastily blocked-in computer rendering of an idea of what scenery is—a rendering in which the artist added in a couple of pieces of trash or flotsam, for realism, but only succeeded in reducing verisimilitude, because the pieces were so transparently added, so mechanically placed, too perfectly accidental to look accidental. The only thing more perfect than nature is our idea of geometry. That's why we never quite get it, never quite really understand where we fit in. We mistake our inability to draw a perfect circle for imperfection; our true failing is our inability to draw an honestly, properly imperfect circle. We can't recognize true randomness, because we always expect it to look perfectly random.