Logs From the Entropy Farms II

Logs From the Entropy Farms I I am looking for the pass to Brno. The map on my phone has been loading three days. The fuel needle has not moved. In the passenger seat is a wool jumper I did not pack. I tried it on in a rest stop bathroom and it fit. The villages come and go, the same winding highways and the same stone fountain and the same closed-for-the-season sign in every resort window. Tonight I will drive through the darkness. As I float down the asphalt I pull the wool over me like a blanket, oh was there a turn up ahead- extracted entropy: 1,000,003.144 units over 5.1 subject weeks, threshold reached, station closing I try to write about the house I grew up in. By chapter three a widowed sailor has moved in next door. I burn the draft. I try to write about the girl who lived across the hall. By chapter eight she has boarded a whaling ship to find her husband. I try to write only sentences that could not contain a boat. The word room becomes the word hold. The word hallway…