Running.
The rush fills me as the unavoidable rush to reach the train overwhelms me. My friend, is it my friend? We both are running. We both are trying to catch the train before it leaves the station.
The scene is desert like. Cactus everywhere. Sand, Dirt. Cactus full of spikes, prickly spikes. Shrubs of cactus are trying to make me fall. Im whizzing past them in a blur. It doesnt matter.
Ive got to catch the train!
Why does the road seem so long as my destination gets closer and closer. I think its getting closer, is it? I see it in the distance. Down the mountain path.
I jump. I jumped off the top of the mountain. I land on the dusty dirt path avoiding all the cacti that surrounds this landscape. I do a roll kind of thing and get back up still running.
Why is there such an urgency to reach the train? I dont know. Just get to it. Now. Before it leaves.
Did I just clear several feet of ground in that jump? Ive got to jump again. Bam a few hundred feet just got cleared. How the fuck am I clearing this? It must not be a serious dream. Im fucking evidently clearing hundreds of yards and avoiding all the sharp prickly cacti that seems to stick out everywhere.
The tunnels of smoke are clearly visible as I am getting closer and closer to the station. Theyre white, winding up spirally reaching for the sky. The description of the train doesnt matter, but the carts that Im trying to reach to does.
They are wooden carts probably four to five feet enough room for about five people. All dirty looking. They have beards, Whiskers everything that youll see in a western. Dirty cowboys. With the cowboy hats and everything. Used and abused, not new looking like theyre fucking noobs. Dirty men, kinda like the miners of old. A few of them have cigars in their mouths. Why are they even on these carts? Where are they going? The world seems to be beating them down and theyve had enough Perhaps this train wherever it is going is the escape everyone needs and wants. Their faces, beaten down, weathered men. Some look dangerous, some harmless. Some are chewing tobacco. Some spit outside the cart.
The cart is only goes up waist high. Everything is visible, a full 360 with no windows, nothing blocking your view. These men spit out their spits with nothing in their way. Even if there were a window, they wouldnt care.
This is only half of it. I lost my momentum to write it down.
The rush fills me as the unavoidable rush to reach the train overwhelms me. My friend, is it my friend? We both are running. We both are trying to catch the train before it leaves the station.
The scene is desert like. Cactus everywhere. Sand, Dirt. Cactus full of spikes, prickly spikes. Shrubs of cactus are trying to make me fall. Im whizzing past them in a blur. It doesnt matter.
Ive got to catch the train!
Why does the road seem so long as my destination gets closer and closer. I think its getting closer, is it? I see it in the distance. Down the mountain path.
I jump. I jumped off the top of the mountain. I land on the dusty dirt path avoiding all the cacti that surrounds this landscape. I do a roll kind of thing and get back up still running.
Why is there such an urgency to reach the train? I dont know. Just get to it. Now. Before it leaves.
Did I just clear several feet of ground in that jump? Ive got to jump again. Bam a few hundred feet just got cleared. How the fuck am I clearing this? It must not be a serious dream. Im fucking evidently clearing hundreds of yards and avoiding all the sharp prickly cacti that seems to stick out everywhere.
The tunnels of smoke are clearly visible as I am getting closer and closer to the station. Theyre white, winding up spirally reaching for the sky. The description of the train doesnt matter, but the carts that Im trying to reach to does.
They are wooden carts probably four to five feet enough room for about five people. All dirty looking. They have beards, Whiskers everything that youll see in a western. Dirty cowboys. With the cowboy hats and everything. Used and abused, not new looking like theyre fucking noobs. Dirty men, kinda like the miners of old. A few of them have cigars in their mouths. Why are they even on these carts? Where are they going? The world seems to be beating them down and theyve had enough Perhaps this train wherever it is going is the escape everyone needs and wants. Their faces, beaten down, weathered men. Some look dangerous, some harmless. Some are chewing tobacco. Some spit outside the cart.
The cart is only goes up waist high. Everything is visible, a full 360 with no windows, nothing blocking your view. These men spit out their spits with nothing in their way. Even if there were a window, they wouldnt care.
This is only half of it. I lost my momentum to write it down.
see you friday