Current mood:	relieved
Current music:	White noise

On Changes and arguably Improving.
The changes, rapidfire in their bredth, everylasting in their depth, do no favours to my mental constitution. Going, then not going, being, then not being, changing, unchanging, then rechanging again, they flicker like fireflies, like burning midges before my eyes.

When all is what it always was, I am certainly not well. This is not to say that I am unwell, far from it, but to say that I am well would be as delterious to the truth as to speak the other.

The changes are for the better, always improving (not to be confused with improving, which is an activity I've not done seriously since highschool - I'll leave you to determine which is which) but still altering the landscape. Old dogs may play poker in paintings, but change well they do not. Pavlovian responses rule the roost, scaring the chickens out to play with the fox. The wolves in sheep's clothing find themselves jealous of the clothing produced by the spider.. resplendant in his own silk. This menagerie in my head is growing restless, my totems view for control.

That is to say: What is done can be undone, what is not done can not be retroactively made to have had happened. To jump from the heights and to fall towards the depths, the air up there is pure, and cold, and sparse. Breath deeply but (like the blood of the man) not too deeply, or the ghosts of unfinished business will kilter to your brain.

The world looks very different from here, this point of view (I'm not positive if it's the above or the below, the awning or the basement) gives me the vantage point that I need to glance into souls, to grasp into ideas.

On the plus side: I'm remembering. An eight digit number (10001369) after only writing it down once. It's coming back to me.

More changes.