[i]Thoughts from hour 39...[/i] They blink at me. Blink. Blink. The blinks tell me things, but those things are all blinks. Blinks. Blinks. Sometimes they're not even there. Where do they go between blinks? Is blinking a thing, for the things that are blinking? Two things blinking opposite one another, which blink when the other blink is blank, will never know that they are not the only ones who blink. So lonely. So many blinking blinks, blinking alike. I stare at them. I once stared at the blinking lights so intensely that I too began to blink. My eyes. My face. My foot. A rock. Blink, blink. So when I moved, I moved in those wonderful lavender scented strobes. The blue ones were where the fire is, and the red ones reminded me of cold milk. Never put an ice cube in milk. Blinking. Blink. Blink. Shotguns will make them stop; but shotguns do not know the truth. Have I told you about the truth? Widget rhymes with disco, if you saw the words right. [b]I lost my shoes weeks ago.[/b]