I am writing this sixteen minutes from now. A cactus sits exactly (EXACTLY) five feet and nine inches to my right in a terracotta pot. It is brown. I look away, turn back and it is now BROWN. Disbelievingly, I blink twice and rub my eyes. It is brown again. If and when You (and YOU know exactly who you are I refer to)read this I might not be here anymore. Don't look behind you, I am standing there reading this with you I SAID DON'T FUCKING LOOK! I was so bored sixteen minutes ago and the desk is so smooth.

Have you ever had that feeling that you remember doing this? but you couldn't possibly have done this before, you're talking to him now but you only just met him three days ago and now you remember that you thought that you couldn't possibly have done this before, because you're talking to him now and then you realize that this is deja vu and you remember that you realize this is deja vu and that you're kinda hungry and you haven't had a butterscotch ice cream cone for a long time and there's a place just two blocks away you can get ice cream from but you were there two weeks ago and you don't think you saw butterscotch ice cream there so they probably wouldn't have it now but then again you're not sure if you don't remember seeing butterscotch because it wasn't there, or just because you weren't looking for butterscotch? Well yesterday I woke up and I guess i was sleeping kinda funny because when I woke up my left foot was tapping and my fingernails were all numb and I had that deja vu-butterscotch-met him three days ago-uncertainty feeling all down my arm. I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes I feel my photography is constrained by the fact that nobody will model for my photos (or reliably help me with self-portraits)

Twelve, Eleven, Ten, Nine, Eight. Don't look away, this is where things get interesting. The door locks behind you as you walk in the empty black room. It is so crowded you can hardly breathe so you shout instead and everyone turns and stares. You lay back on the floor and stare at the ceiling, marvelling at how vast and empty this room seems. Six, Five, Four. There is nothing left for me here. I might as well jump. Don't jump! There's so much I haven't done yet! There's so many opportunities I was denied. That's because I never looked for them! If I look for them they don't seem as special as when they just appear to me. Then just jump! I can't jump, not yet, the right opportunity to jump hasn't come along yet. Two, One, Zero. The hill with the old oak tree is our secret place. It's mercifully far from the big city with all the choking light which hides the nocturnal heavens from us. We lay on our secret hill for what seems like an eternity, watching the clouds, watching the birds, watching each other, watching the world bustle on without us and we lay there and laugh. I am still under the polluted night sky, searching for you. Where are you? I can't find our hill without you. Are you already there, laying back and watching the stars?

Also I looked just now and I have exactly 900 pageviews.