Once more racing the clock. Trying to reach the end of it all and yet I don’t know where the end even begins, but that shall not stop me on my endeavour to be the very best, like someone who was better than I at some stage of my life. You know how it all goes, or something to similar effect.
Sitting here is something that I have done many a time, as opposed to sitting there, which is something that I have done very little of, but that’s the way the dice fall from the hand and into the sockets of the world.
Sometimes the socks go on the feet rather than the feet into the socks. It’s all about achieving the feats of strength, but sometimes you need to have a little bit of grace and tact when you do all of the above and none of the other.
Then you think about your mother and how you were produced and then when reaching into the signs that allow the boards of boarding to board the boards of cardboard, you see the drape fall and into the recesses of the holographic lithography into a dancing sinewy etude of sorts, as it seems and so on and so forth until the music surely does stop and look at your face and onto the discovery board for all that is and was and shall be, but at another time, of course.
And what is that other time? It is the time in which you shall see, but you will not see for all you can hear is all that you were and all that you are leads only to what you could be, but in order to reach the best you need to think of your mother from another brother and lead the twisting of the contortion down the dancehall of the muses.
Surely the pigs may be jealous, but pigs being pigs shall dream of the day when their lofty aspirations carry them along with wings of lead over dormant seas, but if the insolvencies prevent them from doing such a thing, then they still can dream as much as they want and still work to achieve all of their goals in another way.
Now, this of course ignores the views of the heron which only dreams in tessellations. It is a bird of most bird-like appearance, but then again so is the fish to the ox as the cat is to the bovine’s preaching.
That is, of course, to say, that with enough commas, you may destroy a sentence and its structure, but then again who cares when the marmalade sky watches the sun fall down and past the horizon, thus leading to it leaving for the day to try and care for the sun once more?
Who is really to say that not all of this could go within the hands of just some person who sits and does little else than eat their thoughts through writing?
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 05:36:84
So I’m fairly confident with my speed.
I need to work more on the flow and getting things a bit more consistent.
I think that this is based more off of image than anything else.
Written at UNSW.