Where we walk into the living room, stepping over trees and a giant, heaving heart in the centre

Cause it is the “living” room. Geddit geddit?

That would be a pretty funky place to be though. In the middle of a living room. All breathing and shit. There was a show which used to come on Doordarshan along similar lines. I think some space mobile was shrunk and then ended up inside someone’s body. Or perhaps it was only one episode of some sci-fi show on DD.

When most people think about the power of silence, they (i guess) imagine this strong, powerful wall of silence. And its all big and shit. In my head though, the power of silence is less awesome and more like an annoying little egoistic bastard. Adding a pause here, an unsaid word there, confusing the fuck outta things and making people think different things.

Silence being this loopy, jumpy, sugar high little fucker. Inserting himself here and there, and then rubbing himself out every now and then. Like when you tell someone your phone number, 9 9….0 912828 4 or something like that. Mince what you said.

I am going to start eye exercises soon. Guidance from a secret book passed on from one lech to another.

Cheh. So much bad taste that one is.

Then, then what else. Skipping is apparently an awesome cardio exercise but the only problem is that the moobs fly all over the place. And then, after like five minutes, you can barely do 3-4 skips without the rope hitting your shoes. And you are like fukdisshit.

“Oh fuck it…..Get a job sir. The bums lost, Lebowski. The bums have lost.”

Someone was saying how nowadays we are more interested in recording our lives rather than living them. And I was wondering about it and realised that perhaps it is a bit true.

 

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