2002-08-08 - 1:15 AM

We sat outside, mostly, on hard stone steps, talking about life and stories and arms and feet falling asleep. We produced our own respective productions and directed ourselves in our own respective directions, but all and all we were doing this side by side, going down seperate avenues and sliding down different patterns of thought but somehow connecting to the point where we were doing this together. I felt like a rather apathetic pinball, eagerly bouncing off the energies of others while at the same time creating my own. That night, we were all different flavors stuck in a blender, each of us rich in our seperate flavors, each of us creating our own creations, while also becoming so intimately blended that it would be impossible under different circumstances to keep our senses of ourselves.

Time and space break apart like a rotten melon, stickily sour juices dripping from the sides and onto the hot pavement, boiling in a way very unlike but remarkably similar to an egg. This time, you remark to yourself again, this time it will be different. The odd thing, however, is that it actually will be.