On warfare and doodles.

There’s a little, long extinguished notebook at the back of my bottom shelf. I still keep shoving stray notes and slightly well mannered doodles between its pages, compulsively, unaware really of the reason why. And somehow, when I flip through it.. Amongst the variable handwriting and confused spellings I find the wall-less boundaries of my mind in serious trouble. Barbed wires have been wrung and troops deployed at the line of action time and again, in the sweet fear of uncertainty, in the eager watch for entropic frequencies. Most recently, right where the boundary vanishes, there’s a watch tower that my pencil drew up, on preemption.. Something is coming to stay. I wonder if it’s a wild storm or a trespassing monster. It’s not scary or exciting really. All I know is the notebook has caught a damp and I’m unsure of its survival. I’m on the lookout for a new hideout, some place made of an infinite horizon and sunny subterfuge.


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