Got a bunch of things to do in one hour and so now it’s time to power through it all. Now it’s time to get the things done. We;l, not really, but it is, but I’m not. I’m doing this instead,

Trying to speed away. Trying to speed on. Listening to an album or the first time and perhaps the last time it’ll be the first time. Who is to say what will happen in the future?

The day carries a brightness and much greenery, and it appears lush in the way vegetation in Australia seems to appear. Tomorrow is another day, and today is its own day and this moment is a moment where I am going to power through everything at a merciless pace. Can I get it done? Probably not. Do I know what I’m saying? Probably not. But I keep on going. Gotta keep going. Gotta keep charging to wherever and whatever it is that lies ahead on a pale gray among a bright light.

So I’ve said that and ow I’m saying this. I am thinking of things and I am always thinking of things. I am thinking of where I need to get to and wondering if I can get there in one piece. Yet to find out. Scared of finding out. Finding out anyway.

This is a pointless way of saying that I’m going to be heading off to some place later and there will be some enjoyment, but I don’t want to be driving among all the traffic, which I inevitably will have to do if I want to get to where I want to get to. Could take public transport, but it’ll add a significant amount of time to the journey, so I’m not going to do that. Going to drive and deal with other people.

Right now I’m inside and handling a low amount of light. It’s a bright day outside. Not so in here, but that’s fine. I can look out the window and see the brightness, and because I’m sitting in a dim room, it feels brighter than perhaps it is. But there’s only one way to find out, and that’s through powering through everything before heading on out to wherever the road takes me.

So I’ve written this much and I don’t have much else to say. I mean, I always have things to say, but they are usually empty and without thought. Without presence. Without meaning and intent. Or rather, they always are, but lack what they need to truly be communicative. Or something. I know what I’m saying.

But sitting here, trying to cram into everything everything that I can cram is a process and I’m doing it. I’m getting there. I’m getting through everything and through everything is where I will go in order to get to what I need to, or feel that I need to and I will keep on throwing words together in order to get the gibberish forward, or not.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:20:56

Not great writing. More an exercise in getting things out than anything else.

Written at home.