One.
Today is today.
Nothing else exists.
Whatever you have is a gift from someone else.
The continuity of existence is a trick of inaccurate memory.
Don’t trust its apparent persistence, its suggested reliability.
If you think you have said this before, heard this before, it wasn’t you.
While you slept the machinery composing you shifted irrevocably, immeasurably.
The earth spins, vortexes around the sun, pulled along across the universe, a billion cells died, a billion more split, waves of probabilty oscillated never coming to rest.
Start over.
Today is day one.
Thom Ingram 