If walls could talk, they would be sure to scream
I consume the majority of my time here writing, writing and writing. Wether is possible lyrics for a song or random poems that pour like the ink of an octopus blinding its enemy to pull a fast one. I might like to be an octopus, swimming about with one big head, eight long arms, or better yet, tentacles! Oh, to change colors at a whim. Stealthy sea bottom or flashing spectacle....I'll take my choice. Suction cups galore! Oh to be an octopus. If I'm not writing to pass tic-tocs, I usually sit quietly in thought about what to write or octopi. I'll write down ideas and words that sound good together like 'clusters bubble'. Bubble usually stick together to form clusters, but these clusters may or may not be bubbles, but whatever it is, it can bubble. Interesting little things keep me going. GOING BACK FOR MORE OCTOPUS THAT IS? Gotta love octopus. Anyhoo, this manic rambling and octo-love affair (the number 8 gets me eight times as hot as the number 1) was another attempt to pass time, which is infinite and cannot be passed in the auticular sense. So back inot my straight jacket, you wouldnt think it'd be hard to fall asleep in a padded room.
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