phlegmatic ruminations

the perfect place for a good fever is made of darkness, silence and simple things that cool - water, sweat, tears. I would like to add my gentle embellishments - a good book, ginger tea, jethro tull playing august rain, or any squeaky instrumental - flute, violin, lemon juice, occasional chore shouted in by authority figures - spouse, son, anybody, a soothing scent to foil the suspicious odors that suddenly develop, preferably incense, recently acquired from india, ooo fiire. theyre all still not enough, to induce stillness, to enjoy my comfortable numbness, to stay losing time. inside the fever I really have no way to tell, if ive been here long enough, if its the same as before, if i progress, if i accumulate, where my rainbow phase dammit. my iguana like existance is supported by a vast array of hyperlinks, people are too much in fevers, incoming bundles of cravings and bias. also kindness, where hyperlinks tend to face existential dilemmas. id like to believe this is temporary, as many of my fun fevers have been, but theres so much permanence in this one, wherever I turn, theres this sense of, um, well, itll come back in a minute