The sound of the spinning fan is all I hear. Insomnia gets the best of you and you end up mindlessly staring at a laptop screen while you lie in your bed in the dark. The yearning to create is so strong. But how much can you create on a laptop? It all feels artificial. You’re probably reading this on a platisc screen made up of millions of pixels. How real is that? Of course, physical writing has been made obsolete by keyboards so why even bother trying to expand thoughts there.
I miss the snow. How can one who has lived tropically his whole life miss the miserable air of coldness? Because it makes me feel like I’m not living in a manufactured reality. If you haven’t got the point where you feel like you’re teethering on the edge of collapse, you haven’t lived. If you haven’t maxed out your adrenaline levels to new heights, you haven’t even began to experience a different reality.
I don’t get TV. You don’t get me unless you ask questions. You can’t find out about me unless you probe. Unless you’re interested.