The Altered Man’s Journal, Pt. 3

That sensation I get when my fingers dance like spiders weaving cobwebs. My textual ejaculate displayed on the bright, white parallelogram. A blissful, puffy ecstasy in every heart throb. It compliments, potentiates any high. It synergizes. My head dips and my torso sways, but my hands remain rather dexterous. I oft cannot spit waves of what my mind thinks, but I can punch keys if my tongue fails me, although I still have trouble sharing.

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