Stream of Un-Thought
It's been too long since I've written to you, unknown earth sharer. 'Together, we are one' says the night sky to the day's light. One and here, present and future. The leaves blow from under the traveler's booted foot. My word, he thought, nobody rakes around here.
The feast was fit for a king or a queen, or a prince or a princess, for it was a regal occasion, and all of the people knew it as such. The ones that didn't, why, they were left for the undead who were really out this time of year.
No, I didn't catch the show or series you're talking about. I was too busy stuck in conversations about the shows I haven't watched yet.
Just a little wiggle room is all he needs, thought the father worm about his new son, who was about to give birth to a new baby boy worm. Worms are all male, right?
The more I think about it, the more I think about it.
If aliens are out there, it's like, geesh, this is all so one sided, right? We're trying so hard to find them, and it's almost as if they could care less.
A car wash is a terrific place to share a smile over some heavy petting.
I don't know if this is mine, for sure, but I'm thinking that if it ain't, let's make it so.
Being vague, never clear or precise, it's just the way it's meant to be. Too finite and all the sudden you're not even living, you're finishing an instruction manual. Here's this page, where this happens, and then this one, when this happens. It's all so school. School had times, and milestones, and then we get out into the real world and we enroll in our next school, our job, and we get nervous about what to wear, the first day, who's going to like us, who's not, who cares. We are freshmen again. Naive entirely anew. The checks come in and we're passing, we're passing because they continue. We make new friends, we break ties with old ones. We advance. We strive. We yearn for what's next. We're never settling, our little busy bodies can't allow it. We buy the calendar so it can inform of us when our next meeting is, our next appointment, our next check-up.
This is our world. Our lives. Broken down and defined by the activities in which we partake. How's your social calendar looking? You non-social calendar? You activity list, how's that looking? Full? In need of a few more line items.
I've always been fair. I thought that. I truly felt that I've always been fair. But now that I've looked back, it's not fair, I've always been nice. Which has led me to being unfair. Nice people are unfair, because they aren't truthful with you. And that's unfair.
When truths are hidden and buried, the Nicers come out, and they stay for the winter. For the Spring. The Summer. They occupy every season because they'e afraid to leave. They're afraid we would miss them too much. But what is there to miss? The Nicers are lying to us. They're staying for them, not us. The Nicers must be stopped.
Death to Nicers.
Moving along today, I found that the sun hung at an awfully shallow depth.
The serene calm spilled over me. My mind left and I didn't miss it. My eyes shut. Tight. The cold could not get in. So tight and locked without a key I was in danger of a break-in. I guess I've always been.
The way the air hits your hair, it feels like a little columian bam-bam is needed here, por favor.