I made an attempt at early evening b*logging, but after I had written the entry and proceeded to publish it, Blogger informed me that it was under maintenance and the whole entry was lost.
Why do I mention this and not just go on to rewrite what I had already written? Well, my b*logging pattern has for the past weeks been that I b*log at work, usually long after midnight. Devoted readers may have noticed a difference in texture and style from my entries that date back to the past winter. I started to suspect that my choice of words and phrasing might be influenced by the late hours.
Thus, long story short, the attempt at an early evening entry was intended for evaluation; would there be a difference?
There was. My early evening entry was more down to earth. However early evening has passed, and as usual this is being written at an ungodly hour of the night. So, my dear devoted readers from near or far, enjoy the same poetic spirit as you have in the entries of the past weeks, as I proceed now onto matters of. .

What? Matters of what? What matters? Do I? I do? So do you. So, do you? You do so matter. You matter so do I. So do ma. . and pa.

...
Time is of such importance to me now
it is flying by
- dying out -
and I don't have much of it to begin with
Work is killing it
prematurely.

I was unfortunate enough to sign, IN BLOOD, a contract for work duty, rue the day!, as the work has proven to cause me more trouble than I anticipated.
It eats time. My time. Time that I could have spent with the people that matter to me.
With the people at the places
that matter.
This work does not matter to me
- I confess -
at all. I am here 'cause money is useful.

Oh what a waste
especially now
when so little
is left
is left
is left
*extended echoes*
The emptiness of it all
the pointlessness
the waste
of time
of time
of time
time of
of time
that's mine

Aye the being alone and the painting of portraits in my head of what I am missing
has driven me to madness
- lucky I should be here -
madness and kinkiness of discourse
has challenged the supposed norm of perception
of which
there is none
here
- lucky then I should be here -

...
A night that matters has just barely been saved from being swallowed by work.
I was, and am still, going to celebrate the twentieth birthday of someone special this night
this very Saturday night
and work made an attempt at destroying my freedom to do so.
It didn't prevail
the battle was won
by me
by us.

Onward ho!,
..kH