So when there is a vacuum we retreat to fetus position. Or some of us do. Find old, treasured pages of wisdom to walk once again with a mind that has since its last visit experienced things far beyond the imagination found on the pages, and yet treads them with the same delight. This delight is however diminished by the wariness in the background of the mind, the ever-lasting paranoia, the open wound throbbing of soreness as soon as it gets too close to something that might touch it.
Anyway, that was not what my mind was hovering on. My mind was hovering on the feeling of a lover's hungry hands... And on all the associations, the small connections, the nerve impulses. Like in the Da Vinci Code, where one thing leads to another, one step to another. Find the pieces of the puzzle. And how awesome it would be to have a job like Black Mamba. Talking to myself at night, back and forth through my mind behind a cigarette. This cough I have no is bad, and it is most definitely from smoking. Yet, since everyone is telling me "quit, quit quit!", I will do exactly the opposite, and you all know how that works. Stubbornness to the point of stupidity. Why do people smoke? Well, before getting actually addicted, it is a piece of an image. There is coolness attached to it no matter what anyone says. All the bad motherfuckers in movies smoke for a reason. Look at the cover of Pulp Fiction for an example. But that is not the reason. And reason is not what I will speak of, but of the stupidity of choosing music for a flak. I can't really say anything since I wasn't there, but please use reason, please understand that the music has to be something everyone can listen to, pepp music, with heavy bass that makes the whole flak come alive. Anyway, I will not rest on this matter either, so let's move on.
I am still confused and I don't believe this will be resolved anytime soon. As with all things, it will be left in silence and thus just fade into the night...
