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often find myself at a keyboard attempting to write, when something
entirely un-related is attempting to come out of my fingers. I often
find that it is simpler to just spill it out on the page, in order that
I can then get back to what I was supposed to be doing. Rather than
simply replacing those blurbs, I have created this space to paste them.
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One cannot look to the east without killing a small little animal which
doesn’t want to be seen in the light of day because it is so ugly that
no one would be willing to kill it without offering a donation to a very
large company in the name of someone without a soul.
I didn’t know whether or not to say something. The silence in the room
seemed suffocating to me, but I didn’t seem to be capable of breaking it.
There wasn’t anybody else there… not anymore. My muscles gave way, and I
collapsed to the floor. I didn’t hear myself land. The cold of the tiles
seeped into my body while a dull throbbing and a heavy fog mingled in my
head. I wanted to close my eyes. A bit of fuzz was on the floor in front
of me.
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It
was the smallest whisper, like that of a tiny bit of leaf having not
been swept up with the rest, blowing gently from stone to stone on a
cobbled garden pathway. Or perhaps it was more like the sound of wind
almost whistling through the fluff of a dandelion seed just about to
take flight. Or maybe it wasn’t really like a sound at all; but, for
some reason, all I could do was listen.
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A
calm breeze was blowing. A warm sun was shining. A pleasant stream was
flowing. I looked up to the heavens, but my eye was caught by a flash
over the hills. The enormous hunk of metal looked like a play-worn toy
floating slowly over the horizon toward the dock where I was waiting.
Though it was supposed to be over four kilometers wide, I could still
hold up my thumb and completely cover it. A child sneezed, and another
pointed. A woman tossed a rock into the stream and a man complained
about the heat. Such trifling things seemed absurd only minutes before
leaving one's home world, possible forever. But, looking back, of
course I had been drumming on my thighs.
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Who
did she think she was? Standing in front of the child, barely moving as
wave after wave of tangibly hot and painful energy issued from the thug
in front of her, cutting and instantly cauterizing wounds all over her
body, she looked more like a scarecrow being thrashed by the debris of
a tornado than the rugged traveler she had been only moments before.
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The
hill was just a bit too steep. My back tire began to slide.
Unfortunately, I reacted by squeezing the brakes a bit further, causing
the front tire to lock up. I didn’t flip, but let go of everything,
extending my legs in an unsuccessful attempt to jump from the bike.
Owing to the slow speed at which I had been traveling, the only
injuries I received were a scraped arm, and a hand full of cactus.
[true story… happened this morning : ]
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Of
course, no one ever dreamed that the key would have been something
seemingly so banal. The common house fly held the power to change the
very way we viewed the world. We had all experienced it, cornered a fly
only to have it disappear, and then show up again, buzzing around you a
minute later. No one could believe that the fly actually teleported;
they simply justified it to them selves. “Oh, I must just not have seen
it fly by me.” That little instinctual escape maneuver, however, was
going to open us up to the rest of the universe.
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It
is like being extremely hungry, finally sitting down to a burger, and
then pleasantly enjoying your hunger instead of eating. Or like deftly
protecting your gum in the corner of your mouth while eating a cracker
only to begin chewing the gum once again, a bit too soon, and getting
cracker bits in the gum. Or like getting an annoying motion stuck in
your imagination such that whatever you see, perhaps there is a bar
stool in the background, constantly falling over, whacking the ground,
righting itself, and repeating. Or else, just accidentally missing the
turnoff, and simply continuing, to find out what may lie ahead.
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At
some point, of course, I did manage to get out. And yet, as I stood
there, finally free of the pain which had consumed my every waking
thought, and drowned every bit of hope from my dreams, I couldn't help
but feel a strange sense of nostalgia for the life I had just been
leading. The possibility of being stuck there forever no longer
applicable, I was able to look upon my experience with a certain sense
of pride and adventure. Whatever happened to me in this new life from
now on, being like a lazy Sunday walk in comparison, would have little
chance of up-ending my contentment... and it would be such a good story
to tell.
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My
brain is melting. I feel the sweet, pinkish juice oozing slowly out of
my ears, running down my cheek, and finally dripping off my chin. It
smells of old, dirty, rusty iron, like a shovel that's been left out in
the rain for years, since before any one around can remember. I'm not
even quite sure what I'm doing here. I guess I'll have to leave this
until tomorrow.
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