The Great American Novel

Narrative flow is lame. My thoughts are random and obtrusive. They are lame. But I'll wake up tommorow and write the great American novel. Set in Belarus. It involves a man with an American soul caught in a foreign land of yellow people. The poor fella gets so lost sometimes he can be found in obscure alley ways sniffing glue and searching for black widows (none of which can be found in good ol' Belarus). It has always rainded the night before, but is currently showered in bright, white heat from the moon. He climbed the nearest building to jump to the nearest moon, didn't quite make it and renedering him unconscious. Soon thereafter he was decaputated by a hurried horse buggy. The moral of the story is Americans can get lost, and as a matter of fact have a tendency of doing so. That's the synopsis anyway. It's subject to change. I studied the subject of change one time and found it to be 5.734 times out of 10 to be a desirable thing.

Leopold Bloom

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