Here is where I disappear, beneath rain, in thoughts with little sense: missing birds, ringing bells, dreams of babies (changes.)
1234 (il, i, san, sa).
Everything is very quiet beyond the counting I've been doing lately. If I count then everything makes sense. Counting in sleepiness, I find that sheep falling into water is a good way to stir dreams-- whoever made them go over a fence did not have interesting sleep in mind.
I cannot say I remember details of my dreams latley, just soft impressionist images. Details of my day-to-day waking life are fading too. I am trying to return to that state that I always return to.
Photographs will accompany my words soon. My words will be more interesting illustrated. Who doesn't like pictures?
I have plenty of captions to make.
Fewer words.
More concrete things: new memories with a few sleepy days.
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