Dust billows, swirly motes in the sunset through the window

*wonderchicken coughs off camera, gets levered up out of the coffin too fast, wobbly at the apex because the plywood and lever mecha just isn’t it, boosh cloud of pancake powder off the forehead, hey hello folks only been 9 years fuck it*

I LIVE

No, yeah, I think I want to write about my clock that sits by the side of my bed. Its purpose is not to tell time (though it does that, admirably well down through the years). It’s purpose is to go

TICK
TOCK
and also
TICK and then
TOCK

and by doing so corrects and corrals me and I wish to recommend its excellence. Like, conceptually.

Not right now, but.

Eventually. I gave up on words and stopped typing them, but maybe I’m starting to think words are worth writing again, just to kick against the skynet pricks. Or whatever. Words. Yum.

Category:
Thoughts That, If Not Deep, Are At Least Wide