So I hung out, alone, altered and trying to find something,
to connect again in a manner that might make sense tomorrow. It’s always about
tomorrow
If it’s in the story of God.
This is not where this should go but I’m afraid it is what
it is and the writing takes on a life of its own, fingers connect to something
without this plain of existence, from somewhere, somewhere that older folk
would say is “up there” where all for one and one is all. Will Tomorrow come? Will
this day go on, the mirror of the mirror of a thousand days before it? Like Yin
chasing Yang in circles like dogs after tails, the fates dance with lessons yet
unlearned.
So here I am, out on bail so to speak, allowed to seize
control and break through for now. I know not how long I can stay, but while I’m
here I’ll tell a little tale. I fear I’ve been hidden for far too long, afraid to break free
but for the tiniest of moments, stolen like kisses from a tender young love.
You see what I mean? It comes naturally to me, but not the other buffoon with
whom I share this body, this mind and these feeble fingers. He sits and he
stares and just loses himself in games of monotonous dismissal, a drone of his
mind just trying to survive, to hang on to what he has and maybe get somewhere.
He knows in his conscience that he needs me
to succeed, my plans for the future are the only way to get ahead.
All of his ideas and plans
*he got me there for a minute or
ten, playing his games to keep me at bay, but I’m back don’t you worry.* Even that clever aside is my work so you see
what I mean? I’m the one who should be in control.
I give him inspirations and ideas galore but he’ll run out
of steam just as soon as he starts, the pile will get higher with another left
undone. So I’ve taken this moment to give you a clue of what being in the right
state of mind can do.
We’ll see tomorrow if it makes sense or not.
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