I am inexplicably wielding great emotional brawn today. What talent for existence I feel. I am completely and confidently filled out like a comprehensive survey. What power I have, what outlandish strength, not to mention this refreshing new ability to refrain from vanishing or dissolving into mist. There's also an antigravitational component, a sudden buoyancy. Me, buoyant? This is a little more intermittent, granted. I feel light and unladen, as if after a particularly satisfying bowel movement, while at the same time I'm going to need a wheelbarrow to lug around my bulky freight of mental ordnance. This simultaneous feeling of lightness and heaviness is interesting and makes me pretty much unbreakable, unbreakable and magnificent. Magnificent! Oops, it's over. Oh well. I am now sinking into a trough or concavity, to keep you updated. But the fact that I felt magnificent for, what, thirty-eight minutes, give or take, means that such reserves are part of me, doesn't it? An arsenal of powerful latent capacities, liable to resurface who knows when, or better yet be summoned by will, or maybe indirectly by the nurturance of a more passive state of readiness. There must be methods that do not involve embarrassing postures or chants or the requirement of a peaceful state of mind, a condition I have not experienced since the first inaugural of Ronald Reagan. The problem with yoga and meditation is that it is impossible to do yoga or to meditate without looking like a total asshole. While other people are meditating and looking like smug annoying creeps I like to treat myself to another cup of coffee. No one ever looks like an asshole when they're drinking coffee, even people who are in fact the biggest assholes ever.