
I'm not the brightest crayon in the box. I'm the one that got stuck in the pencil sharpener.
The wind is so cold. I don’t mind because I like the cold. The weather. I just don’t. like. The. Being. Cold.
Sometimes I don’t know how to speak. I just do the best I can. And that’s all we can say about doing things. And I get tired of it.
Sometimes I wonder where things should end and where they should begin again. And suddenly I’m forgetting everything and I become detached and it’s on to new amusement. I try not to but that’s the way we are.
We type with very lazy hands that rest on the edge of the keyboard. We type almost what is coming to mind as we think it but we vaguely script it so maybe you’ll understand.
Is that how it is? Did I just create an inadvertent concept?
No it only works part of the time. The problem is that you just can’t package things.
I wish real cold wind would blow away this hot stale sheet around me. We wish it. Sometimes we wonder…
This will defy all your rules, won’t? It?
Ha. Laughs. I feel better now. And un-English. I feel like I can’t speak properly.
So I just watch eraser shavings that aren’t there but should be. Should be twirling, twirling when I breathe like my little worlds that I create in my mind. The same as this one just on a different plane
Stop typing and get the notebook. That’s what we should do.
But we are too lazy and our wrists rest against the edge of the keyboard. Besides, we might lose it all if we stop now… There’s that feeling again.
Twirling! Lightly! On the heels! Of wind! And now to write.