stalling cars, I (just a little "routine" like that ...)
Stall car
11:07 - difficult to focus on a goal or a clear, apart the cold more and more vivid that I feel inside (fatigue). If I write is even more to express an idea or emotion in particular, is just write for the writing is difficult for me to talk about the pleasure of writing (and I do not even speak of pleased to read that ...) I just
metaphors and conjectures that go too fast or too slow, and crashed in the chaos of the semi-conscious before it was made clear. And I must not seem very inspired frankly, with my hood pulled down over his eyes ....
People under One trip
said that "people who love" seem to be on a planet of their own, which the world feels more or less exiled. Well let me tell you it's bullshit, those who are really on another planet is people who have swallowed the trips. Experience: release two guts in a normal meeting. They will recognize immediately, and start talking to each other (and anyone else), exchanging curious glances telepathic, and seeming to understand to a degree of consciousness that qualify modestly "different."
The most amazing is that if we repeat the same few days later, and that they talk of their meeeeeeeeeega travel, you have every chance they can get back to talking among themselves and sink again in this kind of empathy confused. And yet they are not at all, in theory, under prod.
... writing bullshit.
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