Sometimes, I really get this feeling that I can pull it off, that I can make it after all. Sometimes everything is going just fine. The music sounds melodious. Any music. The trees are swaying just right. The winds ain’t too harsh. The dogs are barking in love. The birds are smiling as they fly back to their cozy nests. The rivers, wherever they are flowing, are flowing below the danger level. No flooding. Nothing. The mountains are standing tall and straight and complete and no son of a bitch is razing them down. Everybody’s head around me is working just fine. Every tongue has flowers growing on it. Every curse is divine. Every God is just. Sometimes I get this kind of feeling and I wonder where it’s coming from and why it doesn’t come all the time. I am staring at the cupboard and thinking about what else to say. I am touching my beard. It has grown quite a lot in three months. No cure to that. Human hair keeps growing even after he is dead. Or maybe I am wrong. Who cares really.
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