Free Write #2

Quarter past eternity, the winds blow without a care. Laughter on the breeze without origin or destination. Simple, simple all the way to the bottom, without a dose of aspirin. Tickle the funny bone, tickle my testes, the roundabout way to liberation.

A silent mind pregnant with the next line. The next line the manifestation of the next line. What nonsense! Nonsense and irreverence! Such is the way of the psyche, the rabbit hole of the human mind. Such is the inner monologue, the absurd twisting nonsensical stream of associations echoing down neural corridors.

The beat, the breath, the flowing, the surging and power and passion and energy, the warmth and heat and life and death. The will to be and survive and grow and learn and try and fail and feel. The will of ages flowing amidst inhuman mystery; the patterns and pulses of time and nature bleeding through the cracks of indifference.

What does the blue sky have to say today? How do the trees feel about the coming winter? Their display has not yet begun here, though It will soon enough. The vibrant colors of nearing death and hibernation adorning the soon to be cropless landscape.

Bird shit glowing on the roof of a black car. Cats napping on shelves, and in boxes. The early hours, the only one awake, this mad writer without a plan.

I lost something recently, I lost an identifier. Pause, silence, listening. Tranquility.