At least one hour a day.
Does making it public make it happen?
I intend for this to be something. An activity for myself? Maybe.
I don’t really expect anyone to read this. It’s mostly for me. An exercise; some days more painful than others.
I’m not going to limit myself to no backspace or selection delete. If this is going to be public, then I will have control over what is made public. Though I’ll try and refrain from removing something once posted.
This is strange.
I’m ok with that.
Part of this feels like this is an external dialogue with an anonymous (i also permit spellcheck) person. Though also a dictated thought. Sentence structure is less relevant than diction and punctuation. I’m not going to trust Microsoft word.
I guess I trust you. You took the time.
Rebound. Rebound. Rebound. Ready? Ok! (music lyrics may pop in here on occasion).
Sometimes I think words are too hard and my brain fails to transduce (I disagree word[proper noun], that is a word!) thought (feeling?) into word. Call me shy.
Wow. It’s taken me 45 minutes to write this. Maybe I’m just a slow thinker.
It takes time to progress forward,
to move on;
to forget one’s original intent and forge another.
Forge my name?
Change.
With the best of self-interest,
always in mind: this will happen,
just give it time.
In the waiting hour
I flee toward dark
(a celestial landscape cloaked).
Keep unspoken the thoughts
bringing to light
emotions feeling
tender.
In a balance of
gustatory and cerebral reactions,
I say ‘in another timeline’.
It could have happened,
if it took less time to
change
desire.
I don’t know if I believe that. Sometimes I feel like this is a pendulum. I vacillate toward polar sentiments depending on mood. It all depends. Is it always ‘gonna be be sudden, […] strange’, Fiona?
I’m gonna end it here. It’s been a bit more than an hour. I blame the golden monkeys. I just made a sandwich.
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