The lack of cohesion is a direct result of flavorless gray liquid that has lately been dribbling out of my left nostril.

After a particularly depressing round with the television turned up to ninety-four decibels and the Playstation rampant in nothing less than marathon bursts of simulated snowboarding snow-festivals, a plague of midnight modulations in the frequency of reading material poorly lit just inches from my eyes, and an oblong soliloquy of mashing the keyboard repetitively with the single-minded and solely-repetitive task of fabricating an astonishingly new reality from the strings of chaotic harmony therein, the right and left hemispheres of my brain fused in what can only be described as a blend of crumbling paper and mango chutney.

After that I stared out the window for a while and let the peace pass me by.