Crackpot diary.
Twelfth day before the mast. I see a ship on the horizon. The Dutchman? Nay. 'Tis nothing but a garbage scow. Or perhaps a pleasure craft that's lost it's way. Avast. Oh, hello, there. I was just engaging in a little imagineering, to borrow a term. It gets kind of quiet around this big old barn of a hammer mill, so you have to think of other things and more exotic places. I am certainly not alone in that. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) went on a flight of fancy this past week. I think he imagined himself a paper shredder in a busy office. Hard to tell, really, except that he kept muttering "stapling machine" to himself, as if he were talking to a neighbor. Then he would make this grinding noise, and confetti would blast out the equivalent of his blowhole. Not my choice of fantasy, but hey ... whatever floats it, right? I've taken a few moments between sessions to scroll back through some of the music we've made over the last year or so, under the...