Wrinkles

{You. Yes, you. Over here a minute. I'm wondering what you're doing, sitting there without pressing your fingers down. I'm your computer screen, waiting for you to put me to use. Hey, thanks for finally typing. I have energy flowing from the input (keyboard) to the CPU to the output (me).}

At 15:11, I sit here. In bed at night and in the morning before I get up, I look over at the LED clock and see words because the clock is nearly upside-down in my view. In this minute, 15:11 become IIE (3:11), either an acronym or a type of scream.

My finances keep growing. The skin on my body loses its elasticity and wrinkles with time. All actions occur as I expect them to. Moments begin to blend together seamlessly.

Superficial observations.

When one has achieved all external goals and seeks peace, should one continue writing a blog? These words - electronic noise - upset the balance, do they not? Yes, they do. My existence has no need for typed words, even if my thoughts organize in the moment while typing.

I have found myself once again trapped in vanity, speaking to an audience of faceless beings in virtual space, getting sucked into some social strata. "I" has taken precedence over "not I." I have fooled myself into believing I am important because I can string together words. Writing and thinking equal actions with no moment to call their own.

I have set all my words free into the ether. I have cut the tether. I am neither nor either. I have almost achieved transparency. Translucency will suffice. Freedom in light, detailed or otherwise.

The eternal moment is at hand, where words cease to last. Thoughts wrap themselves into Möbius strips, endless loops with no past, present or future.

Peace, the absence of time in one's thoughts. Wrinkles, the only clock on one's wrist. Nothing to say and nothing to do. Success.