free-writes 1

 on a less shallow scale of life, here's some "deep crap" I wrote during our free-writes (3 minutes of writing whatever comes to mind)  in English class:

The Long Idle Hours-

The spectator is truely the best player in the event. He sees all, and although he may shout, simple thoughts dabble through his mind. The spectator does not sweat, he does not grow tired. If the world were to sudennly collapse, it would certainly not fall on him. The once simple thoughts, drizzling, flourish into full ideas, growing on every vine. Concepts of beauty, of intelligence. How could this have evolved. Through observation perhaps! A sudden singing explosion of thought. All this time, all this space, and entire world of people. When the sun sets in the deep sky, when the last breath is taken, it will be taken for love.

We may never pass this way again-

This is defining, it counts now, all that time leading up to this. I guess we'll find out if it pays off. A flash, no, more like a glimmer, is all that can be seen in the solemn cracks of the surface. The rain seems denser, bringing the world down with it. But I keep walking, and I will only stop for the flower I came here for. But It Might be dead. I'm really not sure. It's probably right around the corner here, are you ready? I'm not, but let's get moving.
                        I for one, think the road to Hell is beautiful.