The World.

A dream; we are looking at a house with the most beautiful garden, lots of trees, very green. My mom points through a clearing and asks about a place next door that she can see through there. I take a look and get the impression from the buildings and the clothes that the people are wearing that it’s a chicken farm, one of those battery farming type ones. I’m there now except it isn’t what I thought it was, someone showing me around says they don’t understand why people still think it’s that as they’ve spent a lot of money, put a lot of energy into cleaning up its image.

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The Fool.

What was this meant to be, how was this meant to go? There was a story somewhere in there, something with structure and something worth telling. Now, not so much anymore. Tonight was a mess of words that involved complaining. Something to do with how things never work out the way I was hoping, asking why the hell this always has to happen. It’s a pity, considering the romantic intention. In my head I had it all worked out quite perfectly. So it’s a new beginning. It’s another new beginning. September 19 is the start of spring so there’s that. Way back then at some point the story was still quite interesting. Just before that there was the three weeks worth of being ill thing happening.

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