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Insanity Is a Journey for the Brave. Take a look around you for just 2 minutes. Itís there isnít it. Hanging on the walls. Jammed into the cracks between the floorboards. Dripping from the light bulb. When you make the walk to the corner shop, pick up a basket, walk the aisles, put the morning paper in the basket alongside your pre-packed chicken and bacon sandwich and then the 2 for 1 beer offerÖ8 for the price of 4. Itís there. When you pick up the packet of chewing gum at the counter as the girl with the over tight shirt taps viciously at the register with no hint of a smile as you place it down on the counter and sayÖ ĎÖnice to see the sun for a change.í She doesnít even look up as she bags the stuff, tells you the total and holds out a pale hand for payment. Itís there in your wallet, the one that was once a Christmas gift from a relative you never see or a lover who should of known you better. You pull out a note and hand it over. She snatches it a little and you keep hold for an instant forcing her to make eye contact. She gives an irritated smile then hands you the few coins of change. Itís there as you leave her to thrill her next customer with her impeccable bedside manner. The sun is there like a giant flick of yellow paint from Vincentís brush. Burning. And itís there when you walk back to your room. When the door closes behind you and you sit at the desk. When you snap the first of the 8. When you lean back into the chair you can feel it rising. Itís there. Hanging on the walls. Jammed into the cracks between the floorboards. Dripping from the light bulb. Itís always there. But when your fingers touch the keys, move across them, dancing in the dim lamp light, your lips touch the can, you flex your hands as you read back, and somewhere in the distance a siren wails as next door she yells violence at her childrenÖ Öyou know itís there for a reason and accept it like a haircut.
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