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It’s interesting to note things down. Like when something happens, to record it to then later gauge your reaction at a later point in your life, when your situation and possibly even your outlook on life will probably have been altered through experience.
I for one never noted things down. I just didn’t have the time. What a well used lie that is. Of course I did, I just was never bothered. Anything outside of the box was either too hard to contemplate or too difficult to achieve, regardless of whether I wanted it or not. So, instead, I thought I could sit smugly while others struggled with their lot in life, trying to get out the box. Ah, the old cynic. I often wonder who one can ever live as a cynic, as the essence of being cynical in fact eventually denotes a lack of belief in anything at all, including existence. Extraneous yes, but an interesting note all the same. Well, I used to be like that I suppose, simply contemplating things in my head while smugly assuming an almost birthright superiority over others. The other part of my mind occasionally protested against this, but they always reached a resolution of that I as a whole didn’t care. Or that it didn’t matter, because you were always more cultured, more spiritual than a lot of people. Yeah right.
I started noting things down after something happened to me. Usual day y’know? Simply sitting in my car, waiting to cross over to the other side of town to go see a friend. It was a cross roads, I made sure of noting that. All at once both pointless and spiritually interesting in the choice and possibility. See, that’s how the mind works. Contradicting itself with both cynicism and a rare appreciation of something on a supposedly ‘higher level’. Anyway, I digress again – a common habit nowadays. I was waiting to go, a lorry just in front of me, an afternoon sun slanting just to the right of my car, scattering down onto the road in patches like golden autumn leaves. The lights changed and I didn’t turn right. My friends were to the right, just up the road, second on the left. But I didn’t go there. I followed the lorry across the road and down towards the outskirts of town, leading into the forested valleys that cut their way into the moor. I’d always liked that way. I turned on the CD player on the dashboard, and turned it up. I followed the lorry, noticing a glorious afternoon vista undressing itself in front of my eyes. I remember I smiled and thought of Sarah. How things change. The sun passed across my eyes, so I lowered the sun-flap above my head.
The lorry soon turned off, but I carried on. The lorry had gone to a large distribution centre, for the foresters. I carried on, turning left and drove up through heavy trees, that thinned to the cut moor and gorse. I love that place now. The way the trees thin and then spring up in little clumps in deep cuttings, the way the very ground is so, for lack of a better word, ‘short’ – there is barely any covering over the raw rock at points. One is closer than ever to anything real around there. I then stopped and got out of the car. I think my mind was probably in one of it’s self-interested supposed ‘conflicts’ again, probably debating whether or not some signal meant something or not. Something else was in me though. I don’ know why or what for, but I began to walk. It’s always been a quirk of mine – if I find myself in an unexpected place, I walk – just to see what happens. The further I go, the more interested I become until I could probably walk all day. I walked down towards one of the cuttings nearby, looking for a way into the dense trees that clung to some for of existence in the thin soils. I remember slipping and getting thin peaty mud all over my right hand. I wiped it on grass and then walked in between several trees that stood bent and withered, away from the rest. I’d always despised this kind of thing – not woods or walking or anything, but the idea of some stereotypical ‘close’ forest, where magical fairies live. Well, there weren’t any. The wood was like any other, slightly damp regardless of season, and very beautiful in the sun’s dying gaze. I began to walk down a slightly clearer path of bare grass and went down into the cutting. I could hear a stream near the bottom. There were always streams, else there’d be no cutting at all. I walked down to the stream, listened to the never ceasing rush of water, and saw someone.
Hello
Who are you?
I could ask the same question
A laugh
Why was that the path the conversation took? They were familiar
I’m, well, not lost. Just exploring
Ah, me too
You mean just the wood?
Of course, why not?
No matter. (What?!)
Well, okay then. Nice exploring. … Smile.
Wait
What?
Who are you?
An explorer. No laugh, just an amiable and amused expression
I know that. What are you?
What am I? What kind of question was that, to me at that time?
Er, a human
No, stop being so damn closed. What are you?
Lost. I laughed. Oh. Well, I’m not sure. Quantify what you mean.
What are you in your head?
A cynic. I tried a smile, failed.
Well, Mr. Cynic nice to meet you
The person left, walking up the other side of the stream, towards the moor land again. I stood and wondered again why things had gone that way. It was very odd, that that was the tag that person would label me with until I left their consciousness, which was, I thought at the time, probably just about five minutes after they left. I half looked at the water, paused, breathed. And walked after them.
I came out of the woods sooner then expected. I saw the person above me, picking a way towards a larger cutting over to the west, across to where the sun was falling into oblivion/Australia with it’s usual beauty. I sped up, wanting for once to really see this person for what they saw in me. I stopped and paused and breathed again, then I called.
Wait!
They turned and stopped, sitting on a rock after recognition. I ran up, noticing for the first time how wonderful it felt to run across an opening with the whole world in my eyes. Music played in my head. I stopped just short of them
Yes?
I, I wanted to talk
I barely know you, what do you wish to discuss?
What you called me, er, Mr. Cynic?
Yes?
Well, I’m not-
But you yourself said it. The first thing you said.
I know, but I’m really not
Good. What else do you consider yourself to be?
Um, kind, honest, possibly a bit arrogant. I,..
Yes?
I want to not be, if you see me. I don’t want to have to be I mean
But you are, therefore you are
Stop talking such rubbish!!
Why is that any more rubbish than which you speak?
Because it makes no sense!
Yes it does.
I let the music play. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. The world span in my eyes.
I know it does.
So why question it?
Because I can’t accept that
Why not?
Because it’s not me!!
Yes it is. You are all that you are.
But I’m, I’m, well… bad!
Yes. Who is perfectly righteous, honest and loving? No one. One is just one, the same as this rock is just itself and nothing else.
So we’re all insignificant?
Of course, what other answer is there?
The scenery was just incredible. Twilight had fallen, when the sky resembled just nothing but twilight. It was incredible.
But if I’m significant, then I’m meanin-
No you aren’t meaningless, you are just as meaningful as the next person, to yourself.
You saying I’ve got a life, then that’s it, goodbye?
Yes, so accept it.
The music had changed. Still wonderful. Everything was.
But I want more!
You cannot have more. Do what you will with what you are given
They walked, and I paused and breathed again. I noticed a leaf where they had sat. Veins, everything, works. I sat down and disappeared.
The lorry carried straight on. I turned right, stopped and noted some things down. I smiled, content, accepting and drove down the road, second on the left. Accepting.
---------
I’m gonna read that in 15 minutes and hate it.
I for one never noted things down. I just didn’t have the time. What a well used lie that is. Of course I did, I just was never bothered. Anything outside of the box was either too hard to contemplate or too difficult to achieve, regardless of whether I wanted it or not. So, instead, I thought I could sit smugly while others struggled with their lot in life, trying to get out the box. Ah, the old cynic. I often wonder who one can ever live as a cynic, as the essence of being cynical in fact eventually denotes a lack of belief in anything at all, including existence. Extraneous yes, but an interesting note all the same. Well, I used to be like that I suppose, simply contemplating things in my head while smugly assuming an almost birthright superiority over others. The other part of my mind occasionally protested against this, but they always reached a resolution of that I as a whole didn’t care. Or that it didn’t matter, because you were always more cultured, more spiritual than a lot of people. Yeah right.
I started noting things down after something happened to me. Usual day y’know? Simply sitting in my car, waiting to cross over to the other side of town to go see a friend. It was a cross roads, I made sure of noting that. All at once both pointless and spiritually interesting in the choice and possibility. See, that’s how the mind works. Contradicting itself with both cynicism and a rare appreciation of something on a supposedly ‘higher level’. Anyway, I digress again – a common habit nowadays. I was waiting to go, a lorry just in front of me, an afternoon sun slanting just to the right of my car, scattering down onto the road in patches like golden autumn leaves. The lights changed and I didn’t turn right. My friends were to the right, just up the road, second on the left. But I didn’t go there. I followed the lorry across the road and down towards the outskirts of town, leading into the forested valleys that cut their way into the moor. I’d always liked that way. I turned on the CD player on the dashboard, and turned it up. I followed the lorry, noticing a glorious afternoon vista undressing itself in front of my eyes. I remember I smiled and thought of Sarah. How things change. The sun passed across my eyes, so I lowered the sun-flap above my head.
The lorry soon turned off, but I carried on. The lorry had gone to a large distribution centre, for the foresters. I carried on, turning left and drove up through heavy trees, that thinned to the cut moor and gorse. I love that place now. The way the trees thin and then spring up in little clumps in deep cuttings, the way the very ground is so, for lack of a better word, ‘short’ – there is barely any covering over the raw rock at points. One is closer than ever to anything real around there. I then stopped and got out of the car. I think my mind was probably in one of it’s self-interested supposed ‘conflicts’ again, probably debating whether or not some signal meant something or not. Something else was in me though. I don’ know why or what for, but I began to walk. It’s always been a quirk of mine – if I find myself in an unexpected place, I walk – just to see what happens. The further I go, the more interested I become until I could probably walk all day. I walked down towards one of the cuttings nearby, looking for a way into the dense trees that clung to some for of existence in the thin soils. I remember slipping and getting thin peaty mud all over my right hand. I wiped it on grass and then walked in between several trees that stood bent and withered, away from the rest. I’d always despised this kind of thing – not woods or walking or anything, but the idea of some stereotypical ‘close’ forest, where magical fairies live. Well, there weren’t any. The wood was like any other, slightly damp regardless of season, and very beautiful in the sun’s dying gaze. I began to walk down a slightly clearer path of bare grass and went down into the cutting. I could hear a stream near the bottom. There were always streams, else there’d be no cutting at all. I walked down to the stream, listened to the never ceasing rush of water, and saw someone.
Hello
Who are you?
I could ask the same question
A laugh
Why was that the path the conversation took? They were familiar
I’m, well, not lost. Just exploring
Ah, me too
You mean just the wood?
Of course, why not?
No matter. (What?!)
Well, okay then. Nice exploring. … Smile.
Wait
What?
Who are you?
An explorer. No laugh, just an amiable and amused expression
I know that. What are you?
What am I? What kind of question was that, to me at that time?
Er, a human
No, stop being so damn closed. What are you?
Lost. I laughed. Oh. Well, I’m not sure. Quantify what you mean.
What are you in your head?
A cynic. I tried a smile, failed.
Well, Mr. Cynic nice to meet you
The person left, walking up the other side of the stream, towards the moor land again. I stood and wondered again why things had gone that way. It was very odd, that that was the tag that person would label me with until I left their consciousness, which was, I thought at the time, probably just about five minutes after they left. I half looked at the water, paused, breathed. And walked after them.
I came out of the woods sooner then expected. I saw the person above me, picking a way towards a larger cutting over to the west, across to where the sun was falling into oblivion/Australia with it’s usual beauty. I sped up, wanting for once to really see this person for what they saw in me. I stopped and paused and breathed again, then I called.
Wait!
They turned and stopped, sitting on a rock after recognition. I ran up, noticing for the first time how wonderful it felt to run across an opening with the whole world in my eyes. Music played in my head. I stopped just short of them
Yes?
I, I wanted to talk
I barely know you, what do you wish to discuss?
What you called me, er, Mr. Cynic?
Yes?
Well, I’m not-
But you yourself said it. The first thing you said.
I know, but I’m really not
Good. What else do you consider yourself to be?
Um, kind, honest, possibly a bit arrogant. I,..
Yes?
I want to not be, if you see me. I don’t want to have to be I mean
But you are, therefore you are
Stop talking such rubbish!!
Why is that any more rubbish than which you speak?
Because it makes no sense!
Yes it does.
I let the music play. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. The world span in my eyes.
I know it does.
So why question it?
Because I can’t accept that
Why not?
Because it’s not me!!
Yes it is. You are all that you are.
But I’m, I’m, well… bad!
Yes. Who is perfectly righteous, honest and loving? No one. One is just one, the same as this rock is just itself and nothing else.
So we’re all insignificant?
Of course, what other answer is there?
The scenery was just incredible. Twilight had fallen, when the sky resembled just nothing but twilight. It was incredible.
But if I’m significant, then I’m meanin-
No you aren’t meaningless, you are just as meaningful as the next person, to yourself.
You saying I’ve got a life, then that’s it, goodbye?
Yes, so accept it.
The music had changed. Still wonderful. Everything was.
But I want more!
You cannot have more. Do what you will with what you are given
They walked, and I paused and breathed again. I noticed a leaf where they had sat. Veins, everything, works. I sat down and disappeared.
The lorry carried straight on. I turned right, stopped and noted some things down. I smiled, content, accepting and drove down the road, second on the left. Accepting.
---------
I’m gonna read that in 15 minutes and hate it.
Popeye.
Thankee for replying.
I actually noted my last comment was in fact an unknowning wink to my first. Da-dah...
I actually noted my last comment was in fact an unknowning wink to my first. Da-dah...
Excellent. I had to read it several times and now my head hurts!
It was like a jumble sale of emotions.
A curious little monologue. I like reading things like this - and the surrealer the better. (Is that a proper word, 'surrealer'?) Probably not. You've started me off now.
Tis true, I did find some of it a bit confusing...But once I finished reading it, I felt wiser.
Strange, I may have to have another go at that as it just left me with a feeling of just a jumble of words and no sense. Except the opening paragraph and the closing line.
Cyclone:
> I’m gonna read that in 15 minutes and hate it.
No. twas good. Nicely written.
> I’m gonna read that in 15 minutes and hate it.
No. twas good. Nicely written.
It’s interesting to note things down. Like when something happens, to record it to then later gauge your reaction at a later point in your life, when your situation and possibly even your outlook on life will probably have been altered through experience.
I for one never noted things down. I just didn’t have the time. What a well used lie that is. Of course I did, I just was never bothered. Anything outside of the box was either too hard to contemplate or too difficult to achieve, regardless of whether I wanted it or not. So, instead, I thought I could sit smugly while others struggled with their lot in life, trying to get out the box. Ah, the old cynic. I often wonder who one can ever live as a cynic, as the essence of being cynical in fact eventually denotes a lack of belief in anything at all, including existence. Extraneous yes, but an interesting note all the same. Well, I used to be like that I suppose, simply contemplating things in my head while smugly assuming an almost birthright superiority over others. The other part of my mind occasionally protested against this, but they always reached a resolution of that I as a whole didn’t care. Or that it didn’t matter, because you were always more cultured, more spiritual than a lot of people. Yeah right.
I started noting things down after something happened to me. Usual day y’know? Simply sitting in my car, waiting to cross over to the other side of town to go see a friend. It was a cross roads, I made sure of noting that. All at once both pointless and spiritually interesting in the choice and possibility. See, that’s how the mind works. Contradicting itself with both cynicism and a rare appreciation of something on a supposedly ‘higher level’. Anyway, I digress again – a common habit nowadays. I was waiting to go, a lorry just in front of me, an afternoon sun slanting just to the right of my car, scattering down onto the road in patches like golden autumn leaves. The lights changed and I didn’t turn right. My friends were to the right, just up the road, second on the left. But I didn’t go there. I followed the lorry across the road and down towards the outskirts of town, leading into the forested valleys that cut their way into the moor. I’d always liked that way. I turned on the CD player on the dashboard, and turned it up. I followed the lorry, noticing a glorious afternoon vista undressing itself in front of my eyes. I remember I smiled and thought of Sarah. How things change. The sun passed across my eyes, so I lowered the sun-flap above my head.
The lorry soon turned off, but I carried on. The lorry had gone to a large distribution centre, for the foresters. I carried on, turning left and drove up through heavy trees, that thinned to the cut moor and gorse. I love that place now. The way the trees thin and then spring up in little clumps in deep cuttings, the way the very ground is so, for lack of a better word, ‘short’ – there is barely any covering over the raw rock at points. One is closer than ever to anything real around there. I then stopped and got out of the car. I think my mind was probably in one of it’s self-interested supposed ‘conflicts’ again, probably debating whether or not some signal meant something or not. Something else was in me though. I don’ know why or what for, but I began to walk. It’s always been a quirk of mine – if I find myself in an unexpected place, I walk – just to see what happens. The further I go, the more interested I become until I could probably walk all day. I walked down towards one of the cuttings nearby, looking for a way into the dense trees that clung to some for of existence in the thin soils. I remember slipping and getting thin peaty mud all over my right hand. I wiped it on grass and then walked in between several trees that stood bent and withered, away from the rest. I’d always despised this kind of thing – not woods or walking or anything, but the idea of some stereotypical ‘close’ forest, where magical fairies live. Well, there weren’t any. The wood was like any other, slightly damp regardless of season, and very beautiful in the sun’s dying gaze. I began to walk down a slightly clearer path of bare grass and went down into the cutting. I could hear a stream near the bottom. There were always streams, else there’d be no cutting at all. I walked down to the stream, listened to the never ceasing rush of water, and saw someone.
Hello
Who are you?
I could ask the same question
A laugh
Why was that the path the conversation took? They were familiar
I’m, well, not lost. Just exploring
Ah, me too
You mean just the wood?
Of course, why not?
No matter. (What?!)
Well, okay then. Nice exploring. … Smile.
Wait
What?
Who are you?
An explorer. No laugh, just an amiable and amused expression
I know that. What are you?
What am I? What kind of question was that, to me at that time?
Er, a human
No, stop being so damn closed. What are you?
Lost. I laughed. Oh. Well, I’m not sure. Quantify what you mean.
What are you in your head?
A cynic. I tried a smile, failed.
Well, Mr. Cynic nice to meet you
The person left, walking up the other side of the stream, towards the moor land again. I stood and wondered again why things had gone that way. It was very odd, that that was the tag that person would label me with until I left their consciousness, which was, I thought at the time, probably just about five minutes after they left. I half looked at the water, paused, breathed. And walked after them.
I came out of the woods sooner then expected. I saw the person above me, picking a way towards a larger cutting over to the west, across to where the sun was falling into oblivion/Australia with it’s usual beauty. I sped up, wanting for once to really see this person for what they saw in me. I stopped and paused and breathed again, then I called.
Wait!
They turned and stopped, sitting on a rock after recognition. I ran up, noticing for the first time how wonderful it felt to run across an opening with the whole world in my eyes. Music played in my head. I stopped just short of them
Yes?
I, I wanted to talk
I barely know you, what do you wish to discuss?
What you called me, er, Mr. Cynic?
Yes?
Well, I’m not-
But you yourself said it. The first thing you said.
I know, but I’m really not
Good. What else do you consider yourself to be?
Um, kind, honest, possibly a bit arrogant. I,..
Yes?
I want to not be, if you see me. I don’t want to have to be I mean
But you are, therefore you are
Stop talking such rubbish!!
Why is that any more rubbish than which you speak?
Because it makes no sense!
Yes it does.
I let the music play. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. The world span in my eyes.
I know it does.
So why question it?
Because I can’t accept that
Why not?
Because it’s not me!!
Yes it is. You are all that you are.
But I’m, I’m, well… bad!
Yes. Who is perfectly righteous, honest and loving? No one. One is just one, the same as this rock is just itself and nothing else.
So we’re all insignificant?
Of course, what other answer is there?
The scenery was just incredible. Twilight had fallen, when the sky resembled just nothing but twilight. It was incredible.
But if I’m significant, then I’m meanin-
No you aren’t meaningless, you are just as meaningful as the next person, to yourself.
You saying I’ve got a life, then that’s it, goodbye?
Yes, so accept it.
The music had changed. Still wonderful. Everything was.
But I want more!
You cannot have more. Do what you will with what you are given
They walked, and I paused and breathed again. I noticed a leaf where they had sat. Veins, everything, works. I sat down and disappeared.
The lorry carried straight on. I turned right, stopped and noted some things down. I smiled, content, accepting and drove down the road, second on the left. Accepting.
---------
I’m gonna read that in 15 minutes and hate it.
I for one never noted things down. I just didn’t have the time. What a well used lie that is. Of course I did, I just was never bothered. Anything outside of the box was either too hard to contemplate or too difficult to achieve, regardless of whether I wanted it or not. So, instead, I thought I could sit smugly while others struggled with their lot in life, trying to get out the box. Ah, the old cynic. I often wonder who one can ever live as a cynic, as the essence of being cynical in fact eventually denotes a lack of belief in anything at all, including existence. Extraneous yes, but an interesting note all the same. Well, I used to be like that I suppose, simply contemplating things in my head while smugly assuming an almost birthright superiority over others. The other part of my mind occasionally protested against this, but they always reached a resolution of that I as a whole didn’t care. Or that it didn’t matter, because you were always more cultured, more spiritual than a lot of people. Yeah right.
I started noting things down after something happened to me. Usual day y’know? Simply sitting in my car, waiting to cross over to the other side of town to go see a friend. It was a cross roads, I made sure of noting that. All at once both pointless and spiritually interesting in the choice and possibility. See, that’s how the mind works. Contradicting itself with both cynicism and a rare appreciation of something on a supposedly ‘higher level’. Anyway, I digress again – a common habit nowadays. I was waiting to go, a lorry just in front of me, an afternoon sun slanting just to the right of my car, scattering down onto the road in patches like golden autumn leaves. The lights changed and I didn’t turn right. My friends were to the right, just up the road, second on the left. But I didn’t go there. I followed the lorry across the road and down towards the outskirts of town, leading into the forested valleys that cut their way into the moor. I’d always liked that way. I turned on the CD player on the dashboard, and turned it up. I followed the lorry, noticing a glorious afternoon vista undressing itself in front of my eyes. I remember I smiled and thought of Sarah. How things change. The sun passed across my eyes, so I lowered the sun-flap above my head.
The lorry soon turned off, but I carried on. The lorry had gone to a large distribution centre, for the foresters. I carried on, turning left and drove up through heavy trees, that thinned to the cut moor and gorse. I love that place now. The way the trees thin and then spring up in little clumps in deep cuttings, the way the very ground is so, for lack of a better word, ‘short’ – there is barely any covering over the raw rock at points. One is closer than ever to anything real around there. I then stopped and got out of the car. I think my mind was probably in one of it’s self-interested supposed ‘conflicts’ again, probably debating whether or not some signal meant something or not. Something else was in me though. I don’ know why or what for, but I began to walk. It’s always been a quirk of mine – if I find myself in an unexpected place, I walk – just to see what happens. The further I go, the more interested I become until I could probably walk all day. I walked down towards one of the cuttings nearby, looking for a way into the dense trees that clung to some for of existence in the thin soils. I remember slipping and getting thin peaty mud all over my right hand. I wiped it on grass and then walked in between several trees that stood bent and withered, away from the rest. I’d always despised this kind of thing – not woods or walking or anything, but the idea of some stereotypical ‘close’ forest, where magical fairies live. Well, there weren’t any. The wood was like any other, slightly damp regardless of season, and very beautiful in the sun’s dying gaze. I began to walk down a slightly clearer path of bare grass and went down into the cutting. I could hear a stream near the bottom. There were always streams, else there’d be no cutting at all. I walked down to the stream, listened to the never ceasing rush of water, and saw someone.
Hello
Who are you?
I could ask the same question
A laugh
Why was that the path the conversation took? They were familiar
I’m, well, not lost. Just exploring
Ah, me too
You mean just the wood?
Of course, why not?
No matter. (What?!)
Well, okay then. Nice exploring. … Smile.
Wait
What?
Who are you?
An explorer. No laugh, just an amiable and amused expression
I know that. What are you?
What am I? What kind of question was that, to me at that time?
Er, a human
No, stop being so damn closed. What are you?
Lost. I laughed. Oh. Well, I’m not sure. Quantify what you mean.
What are you in your head?
A cynic. I tried a smile, failed.
Well, Mr. Cynic nice to meet you
The person left, walking up the other side of the stream, towards the moor land again. I stood and wondered again why things had gone that way. It was very odd, that that was the tag that person would label me with until I left their consciousness, which was, I thought at the time, probably just about five minutes after they left. I half looked at the water, paused, breathed. And walked after them.
I came out of the woods sooner then expected. I saw the person above me, picking a way towards a larger cutting over to the west, across to where the sun was falling into oblivion/Australia with it’s usual beauty. I sped up, wanting for once to really see this person for what they saw in me. I stopped and paused and breathed again, then I called.
Wait!
They turned and stopped, sitting on a rock after recognition. I ran up, noticing for the first time how wonderful it felt to run across an opening with the whole world in my eyes. Music played in my head. I stopped just short of them
Yes?
I, I wanted to talk
I barely know you, what do you wish to discuss?
What you called me, er, Mr. Cynic?
Yes?
Well, I’m not-
But you yourself said it. The first thing you said.
I know, but I’m really not
Good. What else do you consider yourself to be?
Um, kind, honest, possibly a bit arrogant. I,..
Yes?
I want to not be, if you see me. I don’t want to have to be I mean
But you are, therefore you are
Stop talking such rubbish!!
Why is that any more rubbish than which you speak?
Because it makes no sense!
Yes it does.
I let the music play. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. The world span in my eyes.
I know it does.
So why question it?
Because I can’t accept that
Why not?
Because it’s not me!!
Yes it is. You are all that you are.
But I’m, I’m, well… bad!
Yes. Who is perfectly righteous, honest and loving? No one. One is just one, the same as this rock is just itself and nothing else.
So we’re all insignificant?
Of course, what other answer is there?
The scenery was just incredible. Twilight had fallen, when the sky resembled just nothing but twilight. It was incredible.
But if I’m significant, then I’m meanin-
No you aren’t meaningless, you are just as meaningful as the next person, to yourself.
You saying I’ve got a life, then that’s it, goodbye?
Yes, so accept it.
The music had changed. Still wonderful. Everything was.
But I want more!
You cannot have more. Do what you will with what you are given
They walked, and I paused and breathed again. I noticed a leaf where they had sat. Veins, everything, works. I sat down and disappeared.
The lorry carried straight on. I turned right, stopped and noted some things down. I smiled, content, accepting and drove down the road, second on the left. Accepting.
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I’m gonna read that in 15 minutes and hate it.