You’re watching me write this. And although I’m not saying anything remotely interesting, the words, as they pop out, in the wake of the viral cursor, are fascinating. But this has nothing to do with the writing and everything to do how your mind works. Who knows where this will go? Me? I’m not the expert. The scimatic of your brain is not something I could ever understand. My own psychic offal is a complete mystery to me. I’m hopelessly in love one minute, falling out of it the next and without a pause for breath. So, we’re on this train. And we’re all surrounded by darkness and stars, to the accompaniment of the spherical music of the soaring ether. Of course, I’d think about her. If I could. But it’s easier to tap words out on a screen. And if you’re looking on, that’s neither here nor there. But you’re out there somewhere. Whoever you are.


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