So every once in awhile just imagine standing by the light pole at Lawrence Expressway, pushing on the big round button: Does it sense the rate of repetition? A moment of introspection swirls through the rush of traffic, morphing out to the crown of a distant tree. But not to smile, even in the anonymous madness of traffic. Sudden joy is for idiots. Even though no one is possibly looking.
Life cameos are possibly dangerous. Autobiography is suicide. So maybe the implied tension makes it readable. What else can be said?
It's not objective. There are no statistics. No graphs, bloody images. Even worse, I make no claims you will improve if only you will do just as I say. It must be totally useless.
Well, now we're singing, right out there in front of god, the traffic light or whatever. Ever notice how the doves just sail through? I cannot analyze them. And they cannot read bus schedules.
It's a freedom bus ride. Fluff out your coat tails, even though so formal and who wears them now, and fly! It's a lady bug day and where do they go when no one, possibly, is looking?
