My paradoxes being chaotically and sardonically well-worn, and I myself being a very original cliché, not to mention the desire to always mention incidents one way or another, I, today, choose to engrave these letters in the memory of the ether based on the uneventful events that took place.

A few days ago I took a pledge to answer to undone experiences I ought to experience. I must admit it did go pretty well and some were unexpected of me even by myself.  A fire was the last of my motivators. Also a song.

The surrealism of the places, buildings and faces was vivid and unnoticeable. I am able to recollect a cat, a grocery store, people walking in the middle of the road but much to my unsurprising surprise I cannot recall much of the details.

Off I get out and walk into that full of faces place. An old woman stares, a dark aisle and finally a blood sucking chamber full of questioning looks. I am still standing nevertheless. I hear words but no meaning within them except that I already recognize what they are. I listen and keep standing anticipating the moment I lie in my cradle.   

I walk a couple less steps than 10 back and wait for 5 more than 10 minutes. Cheerlessly listening, melodically, and looking to my left to see the intent looking faces. Imagining the thoughts and scenarios they create and kill in their heads. Shamelessly ashamed and proud of the creature itself and the principles yet the image isn’t quite lucid. And still apprehending…

Being handed the entity that holds letters and numbers, which supposedly are mine, the semi liquid starts rushing through my semi alive body. And I stand straight hoping my mind reminds my legs to walk into the alarmingly metallic sitting place.  

A quarter is sucked all the way. Stunning pain, but not the physical I point out, is obvious and hitting all nerves. I sit and see tomorrow to unsee it and come back to the mad and accusative eyes that are before me.  A smile comes rushing to my mouth now but I imagine hiding it.

I curse the idea of only believing in what we see and what I will have to see is a sheet with lines and dots that are songs to my head by this time, and the fact that I have little time to tell about this until it becomes tomorrow. 

I get into that machine again and hope and keep hoping.

In a cradle that is both fair and dark I sleep and shock myself out of sleep. At last I know and not knowing is not only torturous but nicely and cowardly unrevealing.

Funnily I cry to my dismay and praise the different characters of a being.