TO get myself warmed up i just type. Type something. Anything. Sometimes it's a good something. Most of the time such brainless fingerwork results in nothing but inane letters strung together by grammer and logics from a far off dimension only the most psuchotic mind could fathom. A fingerwork exercise. To prepare myself for the emphatic projection project coming up in say.... oh about 30 mins or so. I ahvent written a story in ages. The last time i wrote anything resembling a narrative was back in high school. And they don't call me the king of typo for nothing man. SO i type. As a prelude of the storm to come. This is just foreplay before the fucking, the overture before the symphony, the foreword, stage one, the first note, the first handshake, the packaging, but most of all, it's nothing.
Im ready. Or at least i think I am. The rain outside falls, amking indifferent splahes on our little world. The window gets blurry, and it's all like musi to me. I turn off winamp just to savour the moment. All of a sudden I feel like I'm ten again, before we moved, back when the house was still small. When everyone was just a call away, where everyone shared the same toilet, the same bathroom. We felt alot more connected to each opther back then. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we didn't move.
I wonder about things. Things that happened and why they happened. THings that will ahppen and how, when and to whom it will happen. But most of the time I wonder about the things that COULD have happen. Why they did not happen, and will they happen in the future. I like to wonder, to meander in the forest of unsewttling thoughts. It takes my mind off other, more sombre things like Life, Death, and everything in between. It makes me feel alive, and how much I love life.
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