The Voice, pared down

It's not the phrase. It's the person. It's not the phrase, but its inertia. The big red "G" that must come from the small of your back and radiate frontward and upward? You don't know what I'm talking about? I'll be damned for eternity.

I don't understand why I've written something sometimes. I've learned enough-though, to let it be for awhile. Sometimes six, seven hours, sometimes eight, nine hours. After a voyage through sleep. Sleep is nature's colander, letting all the brown waste run through its holes, hey, what do you use a colander for? Responses will be awarded prizes.

I think I might have one good paragraph left in me.


***

It's not the phrase. It's the person. It's not the phrase, but its inertia. The brain is a balancing machine. The more innocent you behave, the more depraved your thoughts can be. Other people's opinions are ballast on how much you can deviate from the norm. The more you hate one thing, the more that you can love another, although I may argue that hate and love are analogues, and that the true opposite of both is apathy. Try your best arguments against that. You may be right, but people will hate you.

I don't understand why I've written something sometimes. I've learned enough-though (see the pretty symmetry – so pretty so pretty I hate using lotion Kleenex for this), to let it be for awhile. Sometimes six, seven hours, sometimes eight, nine hours. After a voyage through sleep. Sleep is nature's colander, letting all the brown waste run through its holes, hey, what do you use a colander for? Panning for gold? Responses will be awarded prizes.

I think I might have one good paragraph left in me.

***

It's the phrase, and its inertia. The brain is a balancing machine. The more innocent you are, the more depraved you can be. Your opinion of yourself is directly proportional to the degree you can deviate from the perceived norm. Hate and love are analogues, and the opposite of both is apathy.

I don't understand why I've written sometimes.

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