recipe for my love

Note to self, 0.0 production. I'm still, weeks later, trying to make any sense of it. I mean, who saw this coming? When I get back, I figured I'll drop some acid, sit down and write up this work thing. Maybe thats what I need to do to see this straight, to impose some direction, some shape on what I saw.

When I started studying, it was always in my head to end up in an office, simply typing shit and singing my la-di-da all day long. But, it turned out pretty well this studying racket. I mean, i wouldn't go as far as recommending to others to do what I do. Im lucky to have ended up here. Its working for me. All those years of pain and paying attention to details allowed me to just relax and enjoy the moment in a spontaneous way. Allowing you to look around and notice so much more of the context of whats happening around you, who's around you, whats on the radio etc. In short, the major components of any experience.

All we are now are just the end result of centuries of trial and error, that we forget the roots of it. It's deeply satisfying to understand why things are the way they are. Pay a little more attention to the details, it'll tell you so much about not just the thing you're seeing, but where you're seeing it.

Hoping on the tram in the morning and hearing the conductor greeting "Good morning Ms. Robinson, looking good today," as you pass along an unfamiliar neighbourhood, where everything around you are alien. Sort of like the kinda things that you read in children's storybooks. Makes you warmer inside then any pancake waffle could ever do. I found paradise in that brief moment of clarity and I smiled the widest smile.

So here I am, in a sleepy middle of nowhere transit point on the way to somewhere else. Me, smoking my smokes... and of course, still singing my la-di-da. It will be hard. To put a cover on this face. But I suppose this is another part of life one has to indulge into. After all, its all about the next life anyway.

Someone should paint me a face like Mona Lisa.