There are a few versions to that story.
The story of the road which brought me from birth to this,
Very moment, in which I am sitting on a chair.
Sitting on a chair.
Sitting on a chair and Flowing in to the electronic brain of a computer.
At that I was a child, blind to that children's' world.
I Wes Seeing it through the gaps between the fingers of the hand That had hidden it's sights from me, Hearing it through the cotton wool that was shoved into my ears.
This was my childhood, or at list the way it Wes spent by me. (?)
One of learning of a different kind:
An adult boy surrounded by the world.
Of communication, newness. People looking it is a world
At him, people staring, breeding all around his head.
The boy is far away, sunk in to his very private confusion and
He is frightened.
Boy went to sleep and died.
Before dieing he took a Breath
Of concrete air and had an epiphany.
He opened his eyes and came to life.
The only link between the periods is the pictures in my head, the words floating in between ponds of a glowing purple liquid giving me the oh so needed strength to keep my mind & my soul safe from madness.