I was summoning a mathematical formula to mind, but it slipped and the numerator became ungraspable.
Pencil, envelope, to whom?
A voice came in from preconsiousness. Something about rechargeable pencils. Wow. (Opposite of a sharpener??)
I stood in the garden and the bees were so busy on the flowers. The mind beheld the bees purple and violet striations on their backs.
Sparkly green stalks for the pollonation procedure.
That's pretty cool, I felt myself mumble.
Forks and knives, dinner and wines, chardonney, far away, banquets, the milleau we were born into. Hehe.
I joked with the waiter that the garden looked nice. He commented lewdly, but maybe he was just me in some senile imagining. He saw things that we must not comment on here.
He was dressed to the tens.
Speaking of decimation - my silly mind has ten sub-modules, each of them having ten of their own, and so on.
We sat late afternoon amungst the tables and chairs and the flowers bloomed blue and yellow, Biden Rapids or something.
Here is your jacket -
Yes, it's very straight, but it'll save ye from the cold.
From within my gay warmth I asked about the concept of infinity and the precepts of melody.
You chose this life... A4 paper squaring up, tablets searing hot from sunny strokes, laptops branching out like bird profiles flapping.
Purple bees are zooming about but the clinical knights in white spandex and black boots bound in.
Erect the tents, extermination in processing. Purple bees are propelling a counter offensive.
There is this vague appearance of smoke.
We are ready. Careless.
To really write you cannot see words on a mostly occupied or mostly blank page.
You must see what is within towers. I must have seemed lost, grasping at purple bees.
I cannot say what you must do, a fool does that.
There is no prescribed pass, just, for me at least, techniques of alleviation of pain.
Alleviation of the pain felt by dark sorcerers in towers who, if they are evil, are so out of spite for the world and its contradictions.
But one must have strong resolve to be good.
How does one be good?
If everybody made less exertions and less premature assumptions –
I turn back to myself now. Peter Pan?
I sit somewhere. I feel safe. Only momentarily, only cosily.
Hydrogen bonds, mechanical constraints, Lagrange multipliers, lists, list.
Writing is getting soggy, but I must learn to boogey where it’s miserable, as they say.
He is sad. He is learning to see the structure of non-self.
I’m making the first step.