And so another day crawls and slithers its way across a golden horizon of cloud and smog and haystacks that lean into themselves, or maybe they don’t, but the day does crawl and slither.

I’m tired. Such is life. Such is everything.

I’m listening to talking and all the sounds of talking, and I’m wondering about grand pianos and words and sounds, and wondering about lids going down when you’re finished. I’m wondering about other things.

Some things that are said about cooking and putting things back, and staring and leaving people struck silent, dumbfounded and wondering about broken locks.

I wonder as to how much longer the glasses I must wear in specific circumstances will keep impacting the way I see things when I am not wearing them.

Sometimes laughter carries in a stilted silence, and sometimes you’re woken up earlier than you’d like, and that might lead to odd reviews about staying somewhere on a cold day among a breeze that blows through the grass, and sometimes you want people to know where you are so people don’t get concerned.

There are times when one wonders as to what is and is not scary, and should we be afraid of things anyway? Should we wonder as to what is and is not constituting a season in hell, and should we wonder about squatters?

Sometimes the stories are so bad, and someone tries to kill someone else alive, but thankfully that doesn’t always happen. At the very least there can be entertainment among a dreary day as it keeps on crawling and slithering, and leaving a trail of destruction behind. That’s the problem, but if the donor doesn’t tell people what it is that is being donated, then that could lead to issues.

Apparently in The Netherlands there are terrestrial forms; that is to say, there is more than one terrestrial form. What if this is a lie? What if this is a gross misrepresentation of the truth? What if this delusion is… unsustainable?

There could be a longing to reveal what it is behind the veil, but who really wants to know, anyway?

Who wants to be emailed by randoms? This could be fake. There could be no verification. It could be a huge, huge thing, but there’s no telling at the end of the day as the conversation continues to flow onward and people go to met up with other people and chat, and there’s no sense of security. It gets thrown to the side as though reckless abandon is abandoning recklessly. But it doesn’t matter, so long as someone has the long hair, the illusion may exist regardless of how many are pulled down. It doesn’t change and nothing changes, but it seems like it changes.

But then there’s traveling and that needs to be considered, but who knows, really? There could be too many families to consider when it comes to all of those things, and perhaps it’s not something that should always be considered.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:34:28

I started writing and there was a conversation happening near me so I decided to let bits and pieces of that come in. Makes this bit of writing quite messy, but I do like the result.

Written at work.