there was no answer yet, he fiddled with broken tools and assesed his options. there was no point doing anything but what he was doing. the filters in his head where obliterated with disgust and disdain, proving everything was just a moment and everything is mostly space. just shut your eyes, just breathe, count to something and voila. the tank headspace for drama and chaos is constantly and speedily topped, which made sleeping naps the only way for brain to stay functioning, deleting data overflow for a clearer next disaster to happen. the voices inside are very kindly appointed to the best tasks in years. taking in solitude as a wise budhist monk, with some drugs added through different but similar mechanisms. injustice best served cold open hearted surgey procedure in mind flat.
yackety-yack. not good to not think this through. but whenever it calls it follows. so, it calls. and the brain starts to understand it should be following. "why don't you come by my place tonight?" of course the answer is written in the question, it's not even a question. and it follows. and we say good morning like we say goodnight, like the only thing we say.
when would this magic fingers run away from me like fish-hooks gathering every little idea that was left sinking inside my brain uninvited dwelling for hours and hours until it hurt my eyes whispering fierce phrases with no meaning wandering around till nothing was left like a barren free of ideas-land of death quick to melt away at a stare gathering all what was left behind like a circular stair, trying to hide something in plain sight
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