It’s evening, we’re all sat in a room. Don’t remember who’s. Lots of familiar faces, some friends, some acquaintances, many that do nothing for me. Don’t want to be here, just want to go, but I bare it, unsociable as I am.
They talk for hours, I smoke for hours. I take a cigarette out of the red and white magic box of death, place the sandy coloured end in my mouth, pick up the clipper that’s bright yellow in colour (perhaps it could be used to guide planes in to land), roll my thumb down on to the ridged round...
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Two quite strange and contrasting dreams, one which displayed annoyance and other which displayed fear and took the shape of a pretty weird sci-fi nightmare. It provided a strange end.
I told the President to get an M07 computer. He told his people, and his people ordered the computer. When the computer arrived at the air field, it was in a container of which the top part was a lush, sky blue, and the bottom was a dull creamy white. The container was in a crate which had the words “special delivery” stamped across it’s sides.
The scientists each grabbed a crow...
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I am physically exhausted. mentally too. It’s been a hot sweltering day outside, the sun is fiercely hot and it continues to burn the skins of all those wearing short top and low cut bottoms.
If it was just hot, it probably would have been more bearable. But I have this theory that thinking can not only mentally but physically exhaust a person. I don’t know why I think so much it’s become habit, or perhaps therapy.
I don’t talk to anyone, I don’t like to talk to anyone about these things, just having someone there, it makes things worse. A problem...
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