Slept in,
for the second time this morning.
I got up for apple crumble at 10. Then fell asleep to Dream Days wrapt in the scent of cigarrettes and cleanliness, and woke again at 12, feeling much more rested.
Time to tackle the big bag packle. <- and emulgamation of pickle and pack. Haha. Get it?
I really cannot be bothered with the whole packle thing, but my powers aren't that far advanced. Unfortunately I cannot will mother nature to do this task for me.
It would be cool, but it's not going to happen.
I bought a fresh new journal the other day, having finished my Book Of Truth, and as according to plans, giving it away. I had no idea it would be given away so soon, but this is a pleasant surprise rather than a nasty sneaky one.
My new journal fits into the cute lockable cover that my mum's ELF friend made me when in hospital.
I won't be writing here much anymore, not now that I know where to find this sized journal.
Paper has such a feel to it. Even if it is tediously slow, and often written in a script barely legible.
I'll keep in touch, just barely. Just enough to keep you aware that I'm around, just enough to power my existence.
-----------------------------
Light shining like a sunset horizon
Beamed through slits in the blinds
or cave wall
where graffitti is left for future analysis
deep and meaningful
when the light dips away
and the world is 8 and a half seconds behind its own death.
We put on a pair of sunglasses upon birth
To look at the light, look at the light
To avoid immersion, a void assertion
Looking through dark until night.
We slip through the looking glass
between our layered perspectives
that we've worn one on top of the other
building our knowledge
and perhaps this is what makes us human
rather than cavemen
we're bending our lenses with dress-ups
hidden identity
when the light rises up
and these techno eyes filter through its fracturing dimensions.
We leave on bedsdie bulbs (until imagination fades away)
To look through the night, look through the night
To avoid abstraction, a void subtraction
Looking through dark until light.
The running treads slip
slip slip away
on the beach where the moon shines bright
subtract the cause, the chaos, the probability
and dip below the waves
out of sight.
-----------------------------------------
Time to packle.
I got up for apple crumble at 10. Then fell asleep to Dream Days wrapt in the scent of cigarrettes and cleanliness, and woke again at 12, feeling much more rested.
Time to tackle the big bag packle. <- and emulgamation of pickle and pack. Haha. Get it?
I really cannot be bothered with the whole packle thing, but my powers aren't that far advanced. Unfortunately I cannot will mother nature to do this task for me.
It would be cool, but it's not going to happen.
I bought a fresh new journal the other day, having finished my Book Of Truth, and as according to plans, giving it away. I had no idea it would be given away so soon, but this is a pleasant surprise rather than a nasty sneaky one.
My new journal fits into the cute lockable cover that my mum's ELF friend made me when in hospital.
I won't be writing here much anymore, not now that I know where to find this sized journal.
Paper has such a feel to it. Even if it is tediously slow, and often written in a script barely legible.
I'll keep in touch, just barely. Just enough to keep you aware that I'm around, just enough to power my existence.
-----------------------------
Light shining like a sunset horizon
Beamed through slits in the blinds
or cave wall
where graffitti is left for future analysis
deep and meaningful
when the light dips away
and the world is 8 and a half seconds behind its own death.
We put on a pair of sunglasses upon birth
To look at the light, look at the light
To avoid immersion, a void assertion
Looking through dark until night.
We slip through the looking glass
between our layered perspectives
that we've worn one on top of the other
building our knowledge
and perhaps this is what makes us human
rather than cavemen
we're bending our lenses with dress-ups
hidden identity
when the light rises up
and these techno eyes filter through its fracturing dimensions.
We leave on bedsdie bulbs (until imagination fades away)
To look through the night, look through the night
To avoid abstraction, a void subtraction
Looking through dark until light.
The running treads slip
slip slip away
on the beach where the moon shines bright
subtract the cause, the chaos, the probability
and dip below the waves
out of sight.
-----------------------------------------
Time to packle.