Part one, when you sit down - all the time in the world, and attempt to capture the undreamed mania, it doesn't flow. And it's especially stuck, when you tell anyone you're 'living' it.
The flow is when you are skating the knife edge,
On the edge of the precipice, that mummy's L'Oreal shares prevent them from ever seeing the silver lining - as if irradiating multicoloured mosses mark the exact edge of it and are your guide through the unlit few hours now'n again.
All to onesself...
At charging time. Has been such learnings time for a year... no more.
