W.A.I.
Who Am I?
Ever saw that Jackie Chan movie? Crazy. Jackie Chan is crazy. He complaints about a hit to his pinky after falling 3 stories. Well, I don't know Jackie Chan himself, but at least all of his characters show schizo traits.
Sometimes I wonder if anybody would leave their kids with him. Like at the park...
—Sir, excuse me
—Yes
—Could you watch my kid just for 5 minutes— now that I type this I realize it's a moronic example.
(Five minutes later...)
—Where's my kid???
—He jump off swing while on fire to land on fountain. But he miss. Bad take. Shit happen.
But really, who am I.
I'm a guy that can't sleep. And after trying several different approaches to it, I finally decided to write about what was going on inside my head. And it works. Not because I can sleep, but because of this:
(photo by .: Philipp Klinger :.)
Those are not a windmills. That is not even a picture of them. It is just an image and your head tells you it looks like several windmills.
Still, they are not. (Would be very beautiful windmills... if they existed.)
That's how it works for me. I get to show you the windmills and you get to show me their reflection. Without the reflection, they are just windmills. But not even then they are real windmills, so without the reflection they are nothing of importance.
What I write about lacks reality. It's inside of nothing: first in my head, then just bits and bytes. People who read it make it exist —if it weren't for google, I wouldn't even know if anybody did!
That makes something out of my insomnia. Something of substance. Something worth my morning. To know that you requested upon my virtual private server.
(PS: comments have been disabled. Nah, not really.)
Check out my bio (under construction) to see what I do for living. (Anybody thinks I build windmills?)
