Listen to a piece. Pull out one or two words. Write furiously for a minute or two.
Words:
away randomosity
The randomosity of life endeavors to take me away from the things I love. Except is there anything random about it? It's the path and the place and the purpose that was set down before me; that I followed because it seemed appealing and there were no other opportunities that really presented their presence. Was I right to wait and weigh only what was in front of me?
Words:
to talk about
Something to talk about. You'd think that it's such a commonplace treasure that no one would even bother looking for it. Isn't the ground littered with things to talk about? Someone should really clean those up. There's the worry, though, that if they do, something will be found underneath the clutter.
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