Smell you later.

I'm finding that my wild theories are becoming more manageable now that I'm starting to feel better. I still have plenty of them but I can write them into a sketch or a poem or a song and let them go. Convenient to be able to write how you feel. But what about all those people that can only write what they smell? What about those unfortunate souls? Let me show you an excerpt from the "Olfactory News":

"I smelled flowers today. They smelled good. Then I didn't smell much of anything for about ten minutes. Then I burped and smelled that a little bit. Then I became aware that something was on my moustache that smelled burnt. That bothered me for hours. Then the Presidents Motorcade kicked up a lot of exhaust and street dirt. It was hard to smell anything else at first. Eventually I smelled the smell of gunpowder and then the unmistakable iron smell of blood gurgling through my sinuses. I'm better now but as soon as the smell of antiseptic is removed from me, I imagine I'll be smelling urine and other inmates ass for many years to come."

That was John Hinkleys "Smell Journal"

See. It's tough. It's really tough.