Today was another one of those ghost days. The polar opposite of taking a stroll through a ghost town. The place I walked through was vibrant, full of life. People crowded the walkways everywhere I looked, all with different colors and expressions and presences and auras. These were rivers of many colors wavering and ebbing and flowing, spilling all over everywhere I could see, dappling the lush green parks and trickling over sidewalks. Life was everywhere. But I...I was the ghost. I was not there. I could not feel anything that I saw, or heard. Relativity would have that nothing rated better than bad, but I was comparing it to good. That nothing was rated bad. And thus it became bad itself as a result.
Ah but then I was lost into the starbursts of electronic shoegaze. And my head slowed, and my body slowed to keep in pace with my head, and the world slowed to a crawl to meet my perception of myself. It was like a great miracle drug. All of the effects of an imagined psychadelia without the bodily risks.
Music and art. The great saviors. Wings and feathers and blinding white light.
I understand many of my sentences are fragments. It is how the thoughts occur. So I should like to disregard rules.
