Free written ramblings.
In the midnight hour, when so weak and weary, will all the world seem so bleak and dreary. And in that time between dusk and dawn are the longest, coldest, hours drawn. Yet still there they are, night after night after night never ending night where sanity may take flight. For what harm comes from dreams where nothing is quite what it seems for it unravels at the seams and the dark part of the mind schemes. When looney birds are juxtaposed like the words from a hatter carrying on in idle chatter. The point is lost when you ask the cost, and wonder where the dream began.
For what separates the mind of beasts and man when they slumber. Is it perhaps simply the number of neurons that give off a flash, the numbers of signals that dash, dash, dash as two worlds begin to clash?
Have I gone mad? Was I ever sane? How does one analyze this brain? What defines normal, what definition formal could even cover such a gap of some brilliant mind and a hopeless sap; the difference that lies between Newtons and Bachs, and the simple man who talks with rocks. Dreams versus reality, nothing more than a formality to give us all the same mentality and avoids that abnormality that we may confuse with sensuality. But lend me please your hospitality, for I have begun the ramble. Yet still I will take this gamble, as I begin to scramble for the marbles rolling across the floor. For what else do I have to do? A simple answer, nothing more.
I shouldn’t be allowed to write past one in the morning, nor should be I be permitted to change icons at any time that I want. Needless to say I think I’ve done an icon update just about every night this week, and can’t quite decide on which ones I want to use; save for a few. And that none of this is to make any sense, and will likely offend those of you who like literature for the grose misuse of punctuation and meaning of words. Though I don't expect it shall still be here come morning.
For what separates the mind of beasts and man when they slumber. Is it perhaps simply the number of neurons that give off a flash, the numbers of signals that dash, dash, dash as two worlds begin to clash?
Have I gone mad? Was I ever sane? How does one analyze this brain? What defines normal, what definition formal could even cover such a gap of some brilliant mind and a hopeless sap; the difference that lies between Newtons and Bachs, and the simple man who talks with rocks. Dreams versus reality, nothing more than a formality to give us all the same mentality and avoids that abnormality that we may confuse with sensuality. But lend me please your hospitality, for I have begun the ramble. Yet still I will take this gamble, as I begin to scramble for the marbles rolling across the floor. For what else do I have to do? A simple answer, nothing more.
I shouldn’t be allowed to write past one in the morning, nor should be I be permitted to change icons at any time that I want. Needless to say I think I’ve done an icon update just about every night this week, and can’t quite decide on which ones I want to use; save for a few. And that none of this is to make any sense, and will likely offend those of you who like literature for the grose misuse of punctuation and meaning of words. Though I don't expect it shall still be here come morning.