It happens outside of myself, comes in to my brain through one of my physiological capacities I possess that provide input for perception. The data gets processed in my mind, where I add some herbs and spices, cultivated from the residual build-up from previous cycles of traffic. It brews for a bit, then makes its way down my neck, arms, then fingers. It gets typed up. Then you read it.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
On the train
Haven't written lately. The reason is because i haven't really been riding trains. That's usually when I'm sitting and my thoughts are louder than my surroundings. I'm usually alone on a train, and there's no way of calling anybody with no cellphone signal, so I just write. The reason why I haven't been taking trains is simply because I no longer have anywhere to go anymore. Doors aren't being closed anymore, they're being destroyed and turned into walls. That's a big fear of mine. To be caught in a riddle of a life. Like that riddle that asks: what would you do in a room with no doors, no windows, and nothing but a table and a saw? The answer: cut the table in half. Put the halves back together. Two halves make a (w)hole. Jump in the hole and escape. Hahaha. Ok goin to church now. Bye, blog.
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