My name is Rygar and my super power is that I die really really quickly to the tune of an unusual dischordant strand of notes. One time I had this dream where I ate a gigantic chocolate sundae called a "chocolate island" and when I woke up, the black woman I was sleeping next to was gone. I am occasionally mistaken for a shoe.
sort of like poetry in a prosey form:
I've been having bouts of depression lately. Not sure why. It's been showing up as a feeling of disconnection, remoteness... Like those dreams where you're watching yourself from a vantage point. I look back at the memories from the past few weeks and have a hard time remembering myself in the situation. Maybe it's that seasonal depression. I hear it kicks in at around 21.
Whatever it is, it's given me some inspiration for a new write-up.
Cooking is fun. There's something so very beautiful about good food. It's the feeling that people get, what you feel when serving a really exquisite meal to someone. The Dalai Lama said once that there is a special bond between people and those who cook for them, through the satisfaction of the most basic need.
I suppose I'll start with some sweet stuff.