I have brief moments of complete contentment sometimes now, which is unusual especially if you know me well and the cynicism I am naturally capable of, I sometimes get a rush from knowing that I chose to be where I am at any given moment and things are going as I wanted and anticipated they would be, or when things are in slight disarray I try to jump in and let the rush sweep me away, I get lost and fixated with trying to survive this-trying to retain as much of myself as I can, and hold on to it, knowing full well it is an experience I will cherish and learn from.

I feel cities are the perfect place for lonely people, it is so full of us-conversations going nowhere, eyes wandering into the far distance, hooked on a stranger’s beauty and all that is familiar about the search, we are all on the move with little time to properly commit to many friendships without losing a few of our comrades, there is an abundance of things to do here-music and books and laughter and sadness, it is all endless for one still unsure if he’ll settle one day and finally set his eyes forward onto a still target, ultimately sure of his destination.

I haven’t written much fiction, but every night before I sleep I think about the one movie I want to make, it is a horror flick from the point of view of a teenage girl whose house is raided by a group of masked strangers, the earlier and final parts of the film I can imagine, taste and smell each second form and the expressions they all have-but there’s a middle part I can’t seem to push, its when one character loses something vital, and the film shifts its point of view to another person’s, the sentiment and personality and tone suddenly undertakes a new body,and I’m still very unsure what he does at this point.

I promised myself I’d write something, without any idea of what it would be, so there you have it.

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