chibicandy01's Diaryland Diary

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On and on.

A story

THis is a story.
Her name flowed into being like ripple in the pond. Ebbing moments where she was brought forth and questioned. Here is her story, I put forth this in mind of the passing...
Lullaby in question.
Zche moces with a gracde reminescent of days of the old like a d cat with reout a regflecxton no one is squte sure wheterh or not her live or is trasitiojnal is this deposity of life. Or if he is merely a reflection of a demon incarnate athat trapts the osul and lies to past and float ijn a by gone age and Focus on the part . Her name is not necessary when oyou compare it to this moment like a duck oveer filled with weedand drug s of no noticble doubt a tredn the man eatijng out of a bowl that wcontained steam food or somet slush and he played a game like solitare a held cultilcel with rubber press pads that when pushed elicit a souhnd of passable rejection and rebound

She walked past with brown hair in a shor bun and brown blue pants jean tight
legging s like the kind levi shapped her thigh in a haphazard fashion that helkd some appeal whether or not it was meant to be a passing reflection or made more note worthy thatn that . Like a passing tide her hold s this thoiught in our lives and we continue to becokon forth like we have nothing to really focus on or perhapys
That is really the lie for iu have no other thought than to perhaps lie to this freewright the mind that does protray the transluecent memory of thought
ANd of race that abhorent thing that multiplys with every thought like an ainstant you thinjk on how can she be aso dark skinned you feel this magnitude of guilt that clings to your skin and berefit of the comofrt zone you'll end up in prinson for a liar a fool is like ly to be more rewarding than vexed a vixen in lies of subtle perforce reflection to understand. He is dark I am white what else can there be. But a loinging that something deeper more substatnional can exist ;i n our reflectoin in ht emiiro i am alive with this disease of humanity that taunts and taints and tries to lie to me about what i real ly feel whether or not that is the truth does not matter because the truth is ibnsubstantional and i in n mhy idelaistic ideology am not above reproach
this facke existance that allows me to become a liar so easily.DAMN tjh

one day when the layer is bared and truth is displayed in oall its ugly horrible truth You'll face youreself and the mirror and see
damn what the hell is wrong with me?

Slowly I overcome this idle rejection depositing for a moment a deeper in sane neuroticism that allows me to follow in this path of foolishness and perhaps even beckon forth a longer delay his name is ron and he sits so very quietly in thought like this game is of such interest to hold the moment in concentration
Which in truth i too play that game as if there is nothing else in the world.
ui mean the whole world should rely on SOLITARE
a game meant to enlighten the fact that we are alnoe in our thought no one else can attempt to appear there in our words in the minds eye like a dog after a bone and i am alone and follish the man with his bowl of mush is packing up and dimwit to my side the way back right poking eyes elongated noze is watching my com like hawk to a mouse I wonder what is behind his gaze if he has some hidden meaning that i can not comprehend. I dropped the book for a moment and stared at him lkike i was so caught up in the window to his other side and for an instant passing moment we stopped and shared this second together maybe our wave path connected
n
this transitory existantce. Life goes on and on and time keeps repeating And i am left relieveing this thoughts that i may have had and felt but that do not truly go with what i ;am writing now in all out understanding i am lost in this meaning and have forgotten the reason i even attempted to sit at this computer and type type type type tpe like nothin else matter but to rewind...
of course there is no backspacing in life...so every second counts and I have to understand that as i type so maybe this is that purpse. To coordinate my thoughts and understand the deeper meaning behind every layered thought.
I wonder.
_candice

TIck tock...tick...tock ..tick.tock.tick.tock.tick.tock
byebyes^_^

1:26 p.m. - 2005-02-03

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