How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!

This is a relief.

To be able to write again, to have time to water my own thoughts, to find arbitrary forms – was it twenty-six in total? – and rearrange them in a coherent manner to signify my fleeting thoughts.

Alright, I concede. It may not be truly to signify them but to give body to that which cannot be spoken. That familiar voiceless scream.

It is less of an I want to write than an I need to write. If not I may die.

Banality is killing me even as I pretend I am above others.

But even as I record down a thought, another manages to slip past me. Perhaps there are more but I can never be sure. I can never type faster than I can think. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there is a machine that can record our thoughts instantaneously? I would just pour them out – like treacle – and the machine could parse them. Endlessly.

Still, I must record this down. Perhaps this may turn out to be a useful logbook of what may or may not transpire in the future. What will, I know not.

In any case, for two months, it has held my attention. Enraptured, I throw myself into work. Non, non, it cannot be called work any more since that creates non-work. For there is no non-work.

What do you call that which is both work and non-work at the same time? I don’t know.

It is really fun – while it still last. But I am seeing the first sign of cracks before me, as I stand before the mirror and examine myself.


With a self-destructive nature, I ignore that which is put before me. I’m performing, just another character on the stage which is the world.

I choose to concentrate on others. What are the others thinking, you suppose? Are they thinking ill of me?


I am glad for being able to work where I am.

But. Life will teach you that there is always a but.

Human nature gets in the way. Do you ever wonder what is human nature? What is expected of humans as per their nature? Because I do. And when I consider what is human nature based upon my experience with them

I am a part of all that I have met…

it disappoints. Every image that I conjure, they fall short of it.

Every day I encounter more of them and they do not disappoint at disappointing.

Each individual cell struggles for its own survival, not realising that they’re co-existing within the same micro-habitat.

Cells swallow one another. Isn’t it possible to co-exist?!


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