Doctor Norman Holmes

 In which sense is it periodical? In the sense that there is a period? Or the sense that there is an ical? Nonsense. Ical isn't a word. Thank you red squiggly underline for telling me. Sensically, some cents are needed. Money is a construct, but can you live without it?? Social contracted damned, I care about you. But not enough to go out of my way to feed you. You need to feed yourself. Find the answers yourself. Ask the questions yourself. Agency is key. If you have everything spoon-fed to you in life what will you do when you go off the beaten tracks? You'll not know what to do. Be prepared. Anything can happen. Dream. Ice cream. I scream. Cats are meant to be petted and loved and cuddled and hugged. "Eat your vegetables," they say. But what do 'they' know? I've always had an unbalanced diet and I'm still kicking. Tears are a good way to let off stress, but only if you're alone in your bed at night.

 Outside the paprefu lies the nether. In the nether there are endermen and snakes and viles and stakes. Stick and stones and puppy dog tails. Sugar and spice and everything nice. It's all there. But what isn't there? Love. You need the paprefu to have love. Otherwise you have static. Stagnant static that picks up noises on radio signals. Norman Holmes had enough evidence. He was going to trial today. What he had collected had been found and what he had not collected had been lost. His memories were scattered, but coherent enough to show the truth. What was the truth? You may ask. Well, let the jury decide. Judge, jury and executioner. Norman paled at the thought. Why couldn't there be a disconnect? No one person should have such power. Power corrupts. Corruption, while some may deem is necessary, is not necessary. It is vile and wrong and boiled and Hongmeng would disapprove. In dreams Norman pictures himself in the court case, giving his opening statement. The opposing def...

 Under the borrow grove lies the wrathful wraith of written writings past, present, and future. It descends the depths and the heights of the hierarchy of life. Indeed. Deed in. Outside. Die. Stou. Detestful. Detestfully, we rest our wary minds upon a rock. The rock has moss and is soft and fluffy, as moss is. In the orange twilight our thoughts turn to the purple twilight and the magenta twilight. Red twilight and green twilight abound, where is the blue twilight? In these eventful days we look for what has happened and what will happen, but do we stop to think what is happening? Now A time A place is it a place? It's a constant A reminder. A message. A floating bottle Where does the tide take us on days like today? Where do the winds blow us away? What wheat weeps when we whistle? Asunder the thistle. Rumble like a bongo drum. Hats off to the otters. Despite the righteousness of some of my previous statements, I've never given myself the moral high ground. Maybe I should. All...

 My notes got scattered. Someone saw. I don't know what to do anymore. Perhaps I should stop posting. What happened happened. There's no use blaming yourself for the past. Unless you learn from that blame. Whoever said blame was useless? It's an emotion that exists for a reason. Well... is blame an emotion? Perhaps. It's an action. A feeling. A way to convince yourself something happened for a reason. What reason? Well... It could be any number of things. Narrow it down. My notes got scattered. Why? How were they lying about? Oh, I remember. I was the one who scattered them.

 Into the realms we dive of the fractals and the forgotten, but where has that gotten us? We are lost. Lost in the depths of what we once were. Now we don't even recognize ourselves. What happens? Next Our identities stripped away, clean versions of ourselves, ready for new challenges and new despairs. I found a good book to read but I'm too distracted to open it. It's twilight but the sun isn't setting. I can't wait for tomorrow to come. But not because I want it to come, but because I want today to be over. What does that say? Hope is real, but fleeting and useless. Useless? Perhaps. But it's all we've got.

 Doctor Norman decided that he liked English. But he didn't love it. He wanted a language that he loved. So he decided to make his own language. He was confused at first and then did what came naturally. "Roth ar Ga!" Translates roughly to "Save our souls" "Hym na fu sha" Translates roughly to "Divine province is here" "For sal mon ha" Translates roughly to "The Moon is high" "U nath rak sha" Translates roughly to "What is going on?" Norman considered slightly and realized that even if he invented it he might have no idea how to speak it himself. That could be a problem. But he would leave that for tomorrow's Norman.