Thursday, July 31, 2003

Sometimes, some very rare times, I waft into uninhabited space. Untouched and noiseless, cold and unfeeling, safe and sound. And then the world rushes back in…screeching voices and multiple lives, exaggerated existence and crises galore. I wait for the other extreme, the one where beauty returns in small measure, where noise clears out into fugues.

Frankly, like Siddhartha, all I would like to do is think, wait and fast. I am not a very good participant. I resent having to play when I am not in the mood to.

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