Sunday, August 10, 2003
To dance is to be happy. To lose one's inhibitions to the music of the world is to declare one's own content with one's own being. To share one's own affections with another is to be blessed with a parallel twin. To eat lots of food is to be very full to the extent of requiring several hours rest.
I went out on Friday and danced. It made me happy.
I realised that my passage on this earth is alligned with many good friends whom I love in turn for their own love that brings me happiness that no ray of sunshine could contain.
I got fish and chips on the way home from work and debated over which countries have not produced a widley recognised footballer. I came up with Afganistan, the states of Hawaii and Greenland. The others fail to be recollected.The point is, I found the conversation very challenging and I now have heartburn.
I'm a tissue dropping cow. Apparently.
Little hairs that line the windpipe called sillia ensure that all debris is wafted back up towards the nostrils resulting in a phoebe full of snot. This I do not mind. The presense of snot reminds me that I am still alive and not just an abstract concept. The day I embarked upon this illness that has plagued me for 11 days I was fortunate to encounter an out of body experience. I was perfoming the tasks associated with my job when the striking realisation that the arms I was operating were my own, attached to myself and under my control. It was if It was if for one brief moment my head was seperate from my torso and there was a separation between the body of Phoebe and my inner being. I was a giraffe with an elongated neck, a parrot gazing over the wonderous sight of my own capabilites. Arms, capable of ambiguous tasks, weapons of power, have been bestowed upon myself. I am a master of my own ship.
Aye aye captain
I went out on Friday and danced. It made me happy.
I realised that my passage on this earth is alligned with many good friends whom I love in turn for their own love that brings me happiness that no ray of sunshine could contain.
I got fish and chips on the way home from work and debated over which countries have not produced a widley recognised footballer. I came up with Afganistan, the states of Hawaii and Greenland. The others fail to be recollected.The point is, I found the conversation very challenging and I now have heartburn.
I'm a tissue dropping cow. Apparently.
Little hairs that line the windpipe called sillia ensure that all debris is wafted back up towards the nostrils resulting in a phoebe full of snot. This I do not mind. The presense of snot reminds me that I am still alive and not just an abstract concept. The day I embarked upon this illness that has plagued me for 11 days I was fortunate to encounter an out of body experience. I was perfoming the tasks associated with my job when the striking realisation that the arms I was operating were my own, attached to myself and under my control. It was if It was if for one brief moment my head was seperate from my torso and there was a separation between the body of Phoebe and my inner being. I was a giraffe with an elongated neck, a parrot gazing over the wonderous sight of my own capabilites. Arms, capable of ambiguous tasks, weapons of power, have been bestowed upon myself. I am a master of my own ship.
Aye aye captain
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