[Response to “I pressed my face between the bars in order to be closer to the darkness.”]

Despite all appearances to the contrary, he did not think at first, at last. In between, he thought about how the effortless effort within everything caused time. Or is time, interwoven through space inevitably and full of wonder…a mockery of free will.

But of course, he did not know he was thinking this as he strolled around New York City, one part of a walking Ouija board that uses time to fold space. The fluid of friends floating around his life in varying densities was a part of his universal momentum, as essential and involuntary as his heartbeat. In his soul he was beginning to believe that, without any notions or judgements as to what this means, he has a purpose.

One night on a particularly aimless and not so coincidentally enjoyable evening, our protagonist can be found in midtown for no discernible reason over any other. The internal alchemy of turning thought into action fueled an unspoken desire to enjoy the time he has the best he knows how.

As the night drifted onward, alcohol numbs me into maximum efficiency with my internal alchemy, but minimalist inefficiency with regards to thought (one of Nature’s crueler ironies). Conversations that will be forgotten or remembered and forgotten flow throughout the night and are preserved in their lack of preservation…

“…You need to think about what you want, and figure out how/if she is involved…”

“…another round of your cheapest ale, good sir…”

“…remember…good…high school…college…laugh…(we are not there anymore)…”

“…do you ever just think about…”

“…extra dimensional railways.”


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