posted on Nov, 1 2019 @ 02:16 PM
I'm beginning the process. I can feel a disturbance, a slight tear. And there's the hole . . .my entrance. I'm giddy, ready for another unique
experience. This writing thing, it . .it opens up some sort of worm-hole that beckons me, urges me, to leave here and go there . . .somewhere . .
.where I can't be found. It is like . . .a wavelength . . .a very different wavelength. I hear a distant buzzing. No, it's not a buzzing, it's a
distorted vocalization of a . . .a greeting. A welcoming.
Here resides . . .the stories. The stories I am looking for, the stories I want to pass on to others. They wait for me . . .and for you . . .if you
make it this far ! They are ready for harvest, yet they are extremely parasitic. Some will eat away at you until there is nothing left but a memory .
. .of maybe.
Maybe it happened, maybe it didn't, maybe it's real, maybe it isn't.
Entering . . .now . . .I always wonder if the worm-hole will close behind me and I'll be trapped here ?
But you're trapped there . . . aren't you ? Start writing. Start now............ escape.