Why do the days seems so ... disjointed? They just seem filled with one thing after another but these things are all independent, separate, they lack cohesion. The days pass by, I see them pass with my very eyes, they pass before me as a river flows onwards unrelentingly. And, like water, they flow around me, pass me, even though I try to capture "it" (a futile maneuver), they evade my grasp. And, so, after everything, I am left with nothing.
Nothing but these cloudy images that linger. Remnants of whatever had transpired. Bits and pieces, but never even a semblance of an overarching narrative. Stuck with my... machinations... vapid, arbitrary associations between arbitrary points that would have no qualms with having nothing to do with one another. And, all I can do with these amorphous things I hold onto is to force them into these meaningless combinations of lines and dots.
Why I try to convey these "ideas", I have no idea. Arbitrary fates for arbitrary entities, seems fair to me...
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