Since he feels as if he has nothing of value this morning, he turns to Pandora for inspiration; rejects Mr. De Grassi, skips over Mr. Windpony (one of his previous go-to guys) and opts for the comforting trance always provided by Susumu Yokota, hoping that the electrokeys and compubeats will have their usual windchime effect, allowing him to soar.
And they do; and he does.
Sadly though, his meditations yield only a thoroughly sedative mindset, and do not translate into anything but a dreamstate in which somewhat vaguely recalled images remain so vaguely recalled that translation into keystrokes remains impossible.
Instead, as so often happens, he is left to invent.
Perhaps because sunrise is still hours away, or perhaps because there is only the newest of new moons outside his window, providing only the most nothing of inspirational value, or perhaps because of the sedation seeping in through the synthesized sounds, he finds himself alternating between being the man at the keyboard eager to record and the incapable moron banging out paragraph after paragraph of nothing, deluded.
By the time he can bring himself to drink it, his coffee is cold. He clicks off the serenade and turns on the morning news.
This week, Poets And Storytellers United asks us to capture a Slice Of Life during these trying times.