Wisps Set Free

December 22nd, 2023

-1°, feet cold. I sit at my childhood desk, but the windows remained open at my brother's request. It's the middle of the night, but I need to begin writing. I've kept putting it off. I tell myself it's not the time.

A car meanders by outside.

Well, then, dear Tomek. When will it be the time?

A man drags the bins for collection.

It's this internal battle, the tussle between figment figures in my mind palace, lobbing excuses predicated on a conjectured Pharisaic better-self, a yet-to-materialize fiction, imposed on my aspirational spirit. It's dizzying.

Chronic cough pounds free from my throat.

Okay, so be it, let's end this battle. The same way we ended the do-this-or-bad-things-will-happen voice. The same way we conquered flesh-eating habits. The same way we closed the chapter on those relations. I can just speak to my qualia. Qualia talking to qualia, my own little infinite regress. Huh, that's a nice thought :)

The block is clearing in my brain. And the wisps are set free.