Funk feeds my soul it is the fuel that makes me whole like no other tune can, for it has a certain zip and zang with all that thang so easy to love and bop the box to the beat, because only funk makes me move my junk, with guitar chords on my heart strings and the synth wave of pleasure such sounds brings in symphonic sings.
There is a phantasm sense of power in my arm today.
As though I should be holding the hilt of something, or grasping a shield, or that there is a sheathed talon upon my hand. It is a curious feeling that refuses to flee if I flex my fingers. The ghost of ancestral battles maybe? Or a premonition of growing strength?
When I close my eyes I can see a kaleidoscope of buzzing, swirling pinpricks in white and colour against a black backdrop. If I follow those trails, they will lead me to where my mind wanders, to the true essence of myself; A daydreamer, Who could while away the hours watching things playing out, because boredom is just so overrated.
I did have a plan for my day off; waking round midday and an afternoon mostly spent painting elegant wargaming miniatures.
Though fate thought otherwise; no rest for the wicked - an earlier than liked start to help lug and fill up salt in the water softener. With a dash of salty irritation at being underestimated in my strength, and due to having been awake up until 5am.
A sub-par nap and some shut eye, and some free time, before helping move video tapes and stuff on shelves. ...