Intrigue and Intimacy of The Mind Followed by One Moment Of Irreversible Love or From Your Mind To Nothing

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This book was and is a labor. In reading, in writing, and in experience. Truly fiction and hopefully, truly conceptual. There are loose plot threads of Ensen and Astrid, a blog agency, and conversations between friends. The debut work of author Larry Moore, that strives to capture emotional depth and bring the reader to a new place of actualization.

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“Astrid, you should’ve been a mother. You were such a pretty girl. You would’ve been happy and you would’ve been loved. Teen pregnancy was stigmatized and you watched too much reality TV.”

There she sat. The bright light over-head. The dark of last month had almost left. The long awaited death had finally set in. Names were changing and faces were reappearing. The bits and pieces presented in different faces, noticed for the first time. They caught light in embedded in short pieces of granite as if they shouldn’t be there.

She didn’t belong but smiled brightly and said nothing. She had a new air about her as if she knew who was leaving. She was imprisoned by this feeling and was happy enough. You could see the skin around her thin neck bulge around her own fingers as they held tensed. Mostly it’d be polite to look away but only a few would notice how tightly she’d hold her own neck. He’d imagine the hands belonging to someone else.

Astrid felt a grip but she couldn’t describe. At times she would hold her hands to her neck in an attempt to warm them.

Ensen imagined his own cravings getting the better of him and destroying the taste for comfort, drenched in a misery, clinging on him as if he didn’t deserve it.

His eyes flitted trying not to rest anywhere too important. He felt as if he had to avoid looking at what he wanted, a valuable relationship in front of him. This was a guess but she seemed to like the boy reaching out for her.

There in her hand he could see it. Each hand moving to enunciate the words of her conversation. Often she concealed these thoughts creating fast motion to the affect of a concealing blur, obscuring vision. The writing mass of feelings could be spotted when things were slowed down. Often by paying extra attention, if the ADD would slow down. An annoyed hand ran over his face, soothing him.

He would refer to it as an artifact. He preserves these existences in certain moments. Ensen had practiced the skill of slowing things down by memory sake. No other choice could be provided. The habit will stay, writhing and twisting in her palm. He felt saddened by the lonely air around it. He imagined that this was caused by vapors released by a beautiful plant-like tubes, said to resemble the heads of organ pipes. It was more organic then that. A constant celebration.

She knew what she had and had the sense to show everyone. These ripples of her work had not been hard to discern, however, Ensen had undoubtedly stumbled into the find as if it were where he left it.

Astrid’s boyfriend acted as her cohort. Truly these two were matched. Something about it made Ensen feel as if he had ties to his own life somehow learning fast to enjoy them talking together. These thoughts constructing themselves like an old friendship.

Whether the mind had engineered this or Ensen had dressed him up, it was hard to tell. His mind never ceased to stop at distinguishing.

With her boyfriend present the heart slowed down crystallizing and the shapes within allowed Ensen to determine the nature and make of the her.

There were things in inside to observe like shadows flitting from corner to corner, hiding behind wardrobes, dressers, and end tables. There were places in this he was too scared to go, so he tried to cease speaking.

These “ghosts” were sought after sometime, and there in the palm of her hand she owned them, taking pleasure in coveting these, a natural creature.

This is the problem with this “slowing down”. As they begin chronologically tracking the feelings and motions of the moment he could see the object evaporating. They needed to focus quickly, however there is no way to assure quality with hastiness, effort, or preparation. In every observation made there is a chance it’ll be blocked from memory forever.

As these evaporated, these cohorts were gauged. They do not like this feeling of failure, nor do they find joy in the chaos created.

Astrid always blamed Ensen.

He knew she did. As the images transformed into a bottle, I watched the ghosts fly out and spread down on the floor entering the landscape.

It’s hard to get a read on her boyfriend. His cigarettes putting smoke out vigorously, and his eyes glazed over. As he attempts, the feeling exhausts him deeper and deeper.

As Ensen begins to lose faculty and fails to keep these pieces in recollection. They fade and sadness takes over. The old picture becomes dim and he can feel it sauntering down a long drain of static.

Her fervor was admirable and her boyfriend was pleased. Yet everything around them was slowly evaporating.

However, her lewdness was hard to ignore.

Then of course she parted ways cursing his name.

This is the evening that is permeating Ensen for now.

Small-town press always intruding on what he wants to do.

The friends had gathered and she was performing the motions rather well.

Ensen didn’t blame her but he started to avert his eyes from the finer motions especially when it became clear where not to look.

There were clear pictures with her hand outstretched, containing her heart. Her heart or the visage of it. There was a goal here. Not assured of where or when. Cravings start to come at the worst times and misery clings as if you don’t deserve it. With him present the heart slowed down. Crystallizing and the shapes allowed Ensen to determine the make and nature.

His eyes flitted over the blur in front of him. Ensen felt as if he had to avoid looking at what he wanted, a valuable relationship in clear view. At least it would appear soon: the writhing and twisting mass beginning to change in her palm. The sudden lonely air began to fill the room. These vapors being released by beautiful plant-like tubes. These were organic and repetition led to celebration. The spores released, by nature, obscure the nature of the artifact making any discerning of true form hard to observe. He wanted to make the proper conditions.

The heart moved so fast, writhing, obscuring my vision. As she spoke she gestured often, and with focus uncharacteristic in myself I managed to slow these movements down.

She knew what she had and she had been parading it around town. Lastly, I felt as if I had been speaking but she lowered her face down forcing energy into her eyes. Her face over-animated and I was in the practice of slowing it all down.

He felt stricken and these times seemed to pass indeterminately. He had no control and all afterthoughts would be considered useless.

Her friend at her side felt matched to her. Alan was always a good friend he had known since middle school. Ensen felt himself draw back. A bright light in front of the place he saw his life from.

Whether it was engineered or imitated it was hard to tell.

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