Such a small corner.

Nowhere to hide really. The sun beats down. Clouds furl past. Not here. I'm from nowhere. You wouldn't know it. I have no real memory of the place. Its always been there, and i've always been from there, but I can't recall it that well.

Just the mountains and the pines. They were all that mattered. Their continuity was my only anchor in this life. And they will be worn down, or covered in ocean, or broken apart, and ground underneath the surface. Even after beetles and fires. Lightening struck and arson fire. Just a few moments in time seemingly random and I am wary, I don't even trust those memories. I could only see in one direction. Somehow writing more, even if no one else read it, was enough for smallness and static. At least I could learn to tolerate my own work. Not likely. At least not 100% of the time.

Changing emotions. Felt to full extent--get beyond it through immersion. Plunge in all ways. All these people pouring out simple pure thoughts. Rays that haven't even reached me yet. Falling outwards, falling into. That's not really falling at all. Emanating. Poor old gods, nothing next to this. This is beyond age. All in (N)one.

hardy har

a sense of humour.

Fluid takeover now!!