Calling on the Wild (hot coffee) Fumes of Coleridge

Five minutes and thirteen seconds; that’s how long I’ve given myself for this entry. I’ve never been able to embrace the wondrous art of “free writing”. I think too much, too often, too loudly… and I’m all right with that.

Are you wondering why I’m trying this exercise then? Well, I need a post in order to continue working on this new site. I must have some kind of template that will show me what things will look like on the blog.

I wonder if, once the final move is done, I will care for this spot as much as I do for my beloved Pagan Culture… I will. I know I must… even if I highly dislike the reasons behind the current moving rush. Those people should get something terrible between their toes; okay, not terrible… but, perhaps, something itchy that reminds them that it is terrible to take other people’s mind children.

The anger remains a tad raw. No one should be able to steal my thoughts and pretend they did my thinking. I wonder if my free writing skills will convey my meaning. I suppose I can’t think too hard about something that it’s to be done without considering the process at all, right?

Oops! my 13-second warning just buzzed. I guess five minutes don’t stick around for long when one free writes… freely.

While Gently Weeps, by Peca