My hands look wrong. I've been making notes day in and day out about everything I've seen and heard and done. I either do something else or I make notes, none of this “nothing” nonsense. So I've been noting all of this down, because I HAVE to because there's some very pretty music in the surroundings. And that would be an unfitting description too, just “beautiful” really isn't enough to describe it. No one is playing the music on purpose, but there's the sound of drills and birds and wind and ceiling fans and construction. It's all slotting into patterns, all of it is beautiful, and so I HAVE to keep note of it. And I am, and my fingertips have been sawn off for it. Just a tiny bit. Who did it? I don’t know for sure, but I have my suspicions. But anyway, they're just ever so slightly smaller. Unless I’m imagining it and they were always this small, which seems wrong, but maybe I remembered wrong.
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Mouth Is Ink I Am Ink
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My hands look wrong. I've been making notes day in and day out about everything I've seen and heard and done. I either do something else or I make notes, none of this “nothing” nonsense. So I've been noting all of this down, because I HAVE to because there's some very pretty music in the surroundings. And that would be an unfitting description too, just “beautiful” really isn't enough to describe it. No one is playing the music on purpose, but there's the sound of drills and birds and wind and ceiling fans and construction. It's all slotting into patterns, all of it is beautiful, and so I HAVE to keep note of it. And I am, and my fingertips have been sawn off for it. Just a tiny bit. Who did it? I don’t know for sure, but I have my suspicions. But anyway, they're just ever so slightly smaller. Unless I’m imagining it and they were always this small, which seems wrong, but maybe I remembered wrong.