There are no words just because I no longer have the time frame for in-depth literature. I know what you are going to say, but there is nothing I’m not aware of. Like you, what makes my world turn is the array of words that stimulate my former string of sticky emotions. And right now, they are slipping, I am.
The only current exciting pursuit is to find the spider hiding in my broken fireplace. Every other day I sweep the dust and break the cobwebs – the sticky, silky threads with no food but dust and ashes. I don’t know what it is he wants to catch; I haven’t had any ladybugs visiting recently. And yet, I envy him for his sticky webs.
Actually, I lied; there is another pursuit: I’ve decided to become a part-time snail saver who goes out on rainy days to save those creatures from the nightmarish human pathway. Maybe I don’t really facilitate their lives, and perhaps I end up putting them back to the start, or perhaps they had a death wish of which I wasn’t aware, but whatever you do involves some form of guilt. You question your actions.
Animals are supposed to be driven by their survival instincts, but since Graham Greene’s story about the pig that leaped off the roof and killed a man, I think otherwise. You hear about wolves and crocodiles mauling a human being, but you have a pig that has presumably committed suicide in that story. Maybe these creatures think about tomorrow, after all.
One day all pigs will discover that there are places such as roofs.
I wonder whether animals understand the concept of indifference. Some look at you, and then they look the other way. So I think they do. Only food will give them an impetus to rouse into action, but apart from that, they’re as deep in apathy as most living things.
Has my friend taken me too far and triggered an overkill? One dose of indifference, two doses…it was nothing but self-defense, only to avoid–you know–disappointment.
I’ve been listening to the silence for so long that I’m too anxious to go outside and face the discordant noise. It sounds like death in my ears.
Do you ever think you’ve thrown too much away? Most people I know wouldn’t dare to throw anything away, and things would accumulate, and you’d be trapped in your clutter, which will suffocate you. To some people, trivial things are valuable. It’s true; triviality adds up to something big, something you grow attached to.
Why is it that all you can think about are the risks of losing what you have?
And while feeling that way, everything in your stomach begins to swirl, and you fear the moment that might determine your life.
It’s not about overthinking as a human being; these images are just there. They come as broken fractions in dreams and precognition during the day, and it’s freaking me out – big time.
My recent dreams encompass a high level of stormy weather, and the only safe place is the attic. It turns me on somehow; it’s very romantic, but not when you’re alone and turn into a pig. It’s quite sad because you’re plagued with fractured thoughts that lead to no conclusion.
The pig wanders back and forth. Eventually, he loses interest.
