Hell March

Isn't that title a week or so early?

Hardly. For it refers not to any predictive powers I may or may not have (*he shifts uncomfortably in his seat at this point*) but more to do with that most memorable of tunes.

You never quite struck me as the Black Sabbath type. And if it is a song, it does sound most agressive.

What little can be explained in (*look at watch*) eight minutes. But it is a song I have recovered most recently, back from the time when a sweet piece of software made its way into my domain, and onto my cake. The general poise is much the same today. Lower incisors leaving gashes in the upper ones. Molars locked together like disjointed building blocks. Facial muscles relaxed and oblivious as a flurry of thoughts passes from one end of the being to the other. The occassional laugh, a short 'Ha' breaks the monotony. It only takes a short 'Ha', to be transmitted as a 'looool'.

I'm only smiling on the outside, this grin is only skin deep.
I'm crying on the inside, won't you join me for a weep.

Go on. Giggle deliriously. Think of it as a challenge. (*A look that is almost hungry now, ravenous wolves as they approach a prey near death - Almost*)

If you had four minutes to reflect upon any little oddity in life, which one would you pick.

There's a chimney. I can see it everyday. Traditional, amongst the rooftops of London. Just how a chimney should be. But this one has an orb of some sort. The word orb just being fancy for a spherical object, and hardly captivating in a fantastical sense. But it continues to spin. A silver sphere with discernible ridges, and every day I see it spinning away in earnest, with or without the gentle touch of the wind. And when the sun makes its rare appearance, it comes off in a sharp beam, thrown wildly around as my orb spins on oblivious to the shadows it might cast. I oft wonder what it does there, and perhaps one day I might ask one who may know. But that, then, shall be the end of yet another mystery.