Creative: Look3 Journal One

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Streaked like missile trails. Incoming through the muggy Virginia lush. I want to love it here. Rolling, these hills. Like you would want them to be, but mountains on the horizon through the streaked windshield revealing my ignorance. The broil of Washington behind me, but I can feel the pull and the residue of history and drama not wanting to let me go. The deals are being done there, now, as we speak, just you and I.

The believers are here, both in front of the stage and upon. Driven. Sure, this life is fun, but it’s far more than that when your blood screams for the game. Eyes blinking as the clock beside the bed ticks it’s deafening tick. Time passes and what do YOU have to show for it? That’s why we are all here. Essentially. Witnesses who emerge from the entrails of the world to tell us what they saw, heard, and most importantly, what they were told. Guppy to tadpole to White Pointer. The communication food chain. And it’s a site to behold.

I make notes. There are like minds here and I want to know them, talk with them and learn from them. Can we make this place a better place? Don’t know, don’t care, just want to go. Brief sprints between buildings and the sky just reaches down and hugs you with invisible arms. You don’t need VR to see it or feel it, but it won’t hurt.

The Paramount glows. Flashing it’s warning to all who enter. “Get ready.” Pacing, a slow talk with two stories of visual slowly breathing in the background. It’s not JUST about the end result. It’s about the why. Maybe that’s the secret. The why. For those moments, those sixty-second moments something transformational takes place. Attention is given. Pure. Undiluted. Hasn’t been stepped on. Not even once. No filter. Retinas twitch. A pulse quickens. Things are uttered. And then it fades and you are left to paint your own memories.

I do love it here.

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