Sometimes I go for creative writing prompts. So that I can find words in my head that are not my own but ~sound~ brilliant, oozing with contrived emotion, thick affectation, and obvious and overdone themes.
I hover by his ear while charcoal-etched skeletons play poker in the side of my head… one has the Ace of Hearts. *is not the Queen of Hearts* (just so we are straight.)
The blinks are slow with weighed lashes, under the abundance of holiday light; echoes reverberate at their every flutter.
The still frames of the mind are odd slices through time. Data can be acquired from all slices; what seems to matter most to the observer is his own interpretation of it. What does it all (Mean? & Heavy vibrates with an aspect of the 8.) Twist and turn around another riddle. Without The Whole are the parts absurd? Or orphaned? The FINDING is The Task. FIND: 33 Eternal Life. FINDING: 63 Centering/The Present.
We find our voices… from the same fountain, a different vein or funnel.