..., 94 - 23 сентября 2010 19:20

Every day the routine of familiarity, twelve steps to the bathroom, seventy six brushes, twenty nine cm of floss and the expulsion of what feels like around 2.1 liters of fluid. The watched kettle eventually boils after a hundred and ninety seconds…enough for exactly one cup.
The two ninety nine to-do-less on the wall hangs, taunting me with its lack of to-do-ness.
Even the weather's inconsistency, is a blest routinely inconsistent.
The five hundred and twenty four steps from the platform to the office or four hundred ninety nine, if I walk briskly on a good day.
But as I struggle up this forty year hill I have to consider what I see at the top, just a good view.
As the seventy-year-old-me beats his chest.
Who's gonna hear that roar of success? Who's gonna hear my voice? Who? Hello? Exactly. No.
Out of that dirty cities who buy carriage clocks, cufflinks, gin and jags…
Bonjour, la country! Hola, nature‘s playground! Guten tag, Sylvan paradise! Konnichiwa, sheep and cows!
And when the stone walls with its secrets of journey and battle excite my heart, I will be inspired. I will be inspired to run and breathe on my own quest...for new breath... for gold air... for hope and wings.
When the sun sets and the city idly drinks itself into numbness... in the sea... will I wash. The swell of the sea, is just kind of swell... I enjoyed it today...

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