He Keeps A Pulpit Straight To My Heart

A man is trying to reach his lover.
His carriage has broken down in the rain.
The wheels stuck in the mud.
She will only wait so long.
This is the sound of his agitation.

Biochemicalnanomedicalengineer. Dr. Smith to you. Playing against type, just to make a little more scratch and be a little less boring. More than meets the microscopy, though. The Mormons believe that it is a sin to waste the gifts that god has given you, by not exercising them. I am nothing like a Mormon and I don't believe in the existence of a god, vengeful or otherwise, and I pay no nevermind to the concepts of sin or good works. But I do have a moral code. And three house cats to feed. And California to explore. But why do we even do anything? I am suspicious of every motive, maybe my own most of all. I've caught myself in too many lies in the past: its exceedingly rare to be smart enough to outsmart yourself. And I find its real fucking work just to be civil to myself. And then I remember what I am still too smart to mention.

"Aneurysm" used to be my favorite Nirvana song until you touched my arm while we were listening to "Sappy" in the car the other night. Now its "Sappy".

Here's another speech you wish I'd swallow, another cue for you to fold your ears:

However much you love me, I love you more.