All night the heat in the house, like that heat stored up in pavements and brick walls long past, tugged my thoughts toward years I thought let go. Again, I try to break through some barrier I can't even define, make my way in words to what dimly comes to mind, the place where, I imagine, this vague sense of dissatisfaction isn't. Inchoate night.
Also, I've been wondering where the hell these came from.
At the moment, I anticipate a season of ever increasing strangeness.