daynote

Monday is not real. It’s a shared myth reinforced by clocks and contracts.

Once, temples reached for gods. Now, towers reach for markets.

Choose stillness in a world of motion. Embrace a café’s chaos in a world of overoptimization.

Brewed, chewed, renewed—ritual imbued.

Time is a fiction. Yet Monday is a fact.

The more temporary the space, the more permanent the feeling.

It was I—shaped yet shapeless, certain yet uncertain, ethereal yet real.

Thursday is the new Wednesday, which used to be the new Tuesday.

We are all green things tasting the universe.

Genuine inspiration visits not the office clock, but the silence steeping in morning tea.