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Ephemeral. I wanted to use that, so I figured I'd get that over with

& it passes

This place has no walls. Previous banter went into investigating the oddity that such a phrase seems to crop up most in describing abstract places which do not exist, a rather modern creation, rather than having been noticed since the beginning when the world gave us such a place through convex methods. That nobody notices something's lacking presence until everybody has it

Etc. Typing "this explains" my finger fell back on ALT while pressing X so that when I hit P the key combination began shutting down my computer

Which only amused me enough to laugh once I recalled my opening word. The last time I laughed was in fantasizing laughing in conjunction with uncalled for three dimensional projections. Which had already been laughed about two days ago when graphical discussions prompted me to visualize random cones and such in a game of tic tac toe. Before that I hadn't laughed much since the day before when I saw what I'd created was immensely obtuse in design. I'd known what I was creating, but I only realized it was so stupid when I saw it

Onwards, as laughter is another ephemeral thing. All in between I was left wishing this apartment had rafters

I wanted to have this by now, but it's really a quick slip. My thoughts are busy fleshing out a stereotypical 17. I want there to be characters in that piece. I've imagined a scene where a character will realize his life ends when the story does, and so seeks out to act purely in the interests of extending the length of the story without his demise. There will be a gun in the opening act, and he'll know that someone's going to get shot. At that early point in the writing I willn't've broken free from my minimalist cast habits, so there will only be two characters. The protagonist will know that the gun is going to be fired, and so will move the plot as well as he can to not get shot. Maybe I'll let him take the shot, or maybe I'll have the story be a quick Act I and drag out Act II. Anyways, it'll be a jolly time of going over all the clichés I've taken up in my writing. Part of the joke with 17 is that I've always seen 16 as the stereotypical age. 17 was a prime number, and it's the most common random number. 17 almost seemed like a more mature age to me than 18. Despite everyone's hoisting it as adulthood and all that cal. I'd hope that these inevitable agisms fade away in the twenties, but as I draw nearer to that age I'm noticing those ages differentiating themselves more. Plenty in the cards, like a 16 year old asking a 17 year old if they felt their youthful glow

Right where I was, but farther away. That's where I'm at

Of course, I've now detoured away from the original intent in previewing plans I'll likely fumble. I fumbled that couch piece. Didn't capture the crude grunge of couch sex very well at all. But I tried

So this is what I'll try to capture: Ephemeral

& gone