poukledden

After a long day at work, a happy hour or so writing. Exhausted, bleary-eyed (as much from allergies as sleepiness), but typing. Right now it is strictly For Me, wandering stream of consciousness stuff. Explore, get my feet wet, rediscover a joy in words.

Odd, the thought storms that erupt. A pondering on the smell of the Volvo leads to a series of memories that lead, in turn, to the realization that there's a suite of machine smells that signify, to me, death. And remembering sitting in the car before it came to life, and the silence inside was so deep, it was like you were in a void outside of the universe, only  a few car creaks and pops to break the voidness. Sounds from outside muffled and dull, the silence humming in your ears until you wanted to scratch at your skin to get it out.  And then the low roar of the engine would break in, and the radio would turn on, and the universe was human once more.