this is Whimsy speaking. it occurs to me that I used to do something similar, with the journal I hand writ in the 90s: I kept track of whatever came over the transom. for me it would include rumination on New Yorker ads, with a sort of corallary of doing precise decriptions of scratch and sniff perfumes, asserting as best as I could what the olfactory bulb registered. also surveys of catalogues that flooded in was a natch for scribble scribble. plus stupid moveis, occasionally tv shows, the weathrer, oh yeah and books. I had mucho fun doing this, but I see it can be something of a service, as I read Jeffery's take on the modality. I've never seen BAP, and there's a chip on my shoulder saying (chirp chirp) that I don't care if I never, yet I think it is nifty that there's a receptor, not merely a satirist, on call for when the next Best presumes to appear. what if opinions weren't dramatic, for instance? or crucial, in a ductile way. what if opinions flickered into more chemical responses, or do I mean less chemical? the image I want to foster, is of taking the matter as it is, within human type limits, of course. rather than performing god duty, gatekeeper shit. as in here's what my receptors got, within their paltry human limits. misreading is kinda what we all do, that's the adventure. but misreading as a stupid ploy to self-generate, as a political ignorance: that sucks the berry bush. it's rough enough when someone doesn't grip what's on the page, but that's the challenge we all accept. it's the sweating the criminally inferred into a box beyond the page that brings the stink. unsurprisingly, I've wandered here, but I think I can at least acknowledge a reasonable process in the postings at Whimsy Speaks. I hope my own muddle brings a beam once in a while.