The brain sits solid as a rock as it watches through the holes in your head. Waiting.


Nothing appears to be worthy of its time. It seems correct to wait. It is as if everything has to be just right before it makes itself known to the rest of the room. Why would it risk revealing itself before the right moment - just at the right time.

Everything else moves about in chaotic order. Somewhere in the milieu an alignment is expected. Between the door and the keyboard. That will be the moment. Waiting for that moment.

While chaos determines itself the mind is at ease. If it is to achieve its goal it must stay completely inactive. All non-essentials are on standby. A moment will spark. Injection of fluid. Ignition. Pistons firing. Mind at work. Waiting to put the mind to work.

Right now the mind is slipping between sheets and waiting.