I sometimes have this reaction when I am listening to kids or the geriatric
talk on and on about life. I can't help but listen because I don't want to be
rude, but on few occasions I get lucky and my brain starts to feel this thing.
This hat conceals my incorrect hair. It's a good catalyst for brain tickles.
It feels like motion. But a chemical reaction, perhaps. I get happy. It might
be because I get amused at how such one sided convos can be prolonged
with so much conviction. My brain starts to do the Shaka and I half-smile.
It's kinda like eating Pop Rocks, but more gentle and whimsical. The venue
is not the mouth but somewhere in the mind. It feels like it's shape-shifting.
It'll be cool if my Nikes took me there, unfortunately I can't get there by foot.
I reckon though, that it's strikingly magnificent that this feeling is attainable
without listening to neither the young nor the old. All I need is to play with my
markers and I am transported to that whimsical zone. It's quite the phantom.
And all this talk makes me want to eat a burger, a luscious quarter-pounder.
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