be random what is now when is then where is email who i am how it is why it is leave a note? share me, share you make me smile thank you other journals (of course I should be sleeping) (what's life got to do with it?) about me (too much to know at once) friend? (tic tic tic, toc) BE MY GUEST (BOOK) << MISSING �SOMETHING? >> the bottom line who can when i had the time the first of december (has another song) what i do < ? me # > < ? harrychapin # > < ? Random Acts of Journaling # > < ? Poetic Voices # > < ? The Write Club # > < ? Nights Awake # > < ? Fluid # > < ? Adopted # > < ? Childlike # > < ? Poets-Muse # > < ? Five Hundred # > < ? As You Wish # > temporary place holder ()))CRAYON-BOX)))> published blogmad! varb? �2015 CANDOR COMMUNICATIONS IF YOU WANT TO USE THE WORDS FOR ANY REASON TALK TO ME |
and the changes and the changes... well, I clicked off the weblog style and returned to the normal style, whatever normal may be... that I might be considered normal is a stretch of the most flexible imagination, but that's besides the point... the e key seems to be better... you may recall it was sticking and repeating... maybe it had a case of the flu or a 48 hour virus or something... speaking of such maladies, this body has danced with some microscopic organisms (or perhaps single celled critters) for the past week... some days the body does better than others... working in a residential hospital provides a fine breeding ground for the common colds and assorted bugs that play havoc with human cells... when I let resistance go down far enough (not enough sleep, inconsistent diet, lack of exercise, unfocused tension, unreleased stress, etc), I get sick... sick is no fun without a nurse to whine to and sniffle upon, so it is no fun these days... I think I'll get better now... so anyway, the flow here was certainly broken by the format changing (how fragile the new muse can be) and the inconsistent inspirations from out there (you?... perhaps) and the distractions of the flesh (and overall loneliness that permeates life at present)... perhaps we shall attempt to make sense of the drifts from obscurity that feigns a pendulum of poetic prose infused with what might be prophetic fantasy or promises or at least wonderings to the apparent reports of mundane details of the technologies, biologies, psychologies, and cartographies of life in the flesh and therein distract attention from the deeper wounds, the shadows and blood stains, the infinite abyss of endless hunger and wanting, yearning, longing to love and be loved... or perhaps not...
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I love you all for coming... for reading all these words for every click feels like more love (I know that sounds absurd) if I could only tell you... one thing more tonight I'd say I wish you could come home with me and be my friends for life |