Im typing this post in real time

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my hair one time
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with friends at Feverhead
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May 2015
good. god. it actually read that as i typed it, the title: “i’m typing this post in ‘real time'”. .. ! tha fuq is real time? this is the first post i will have ever type/d in real time. until now i’ve posted excerpted written journals and other ‘un-real time’ ephemera on this blogsite.
so. i read the posts i’ve written and shared thus far. my memory varies wildly as to the state i am in. i wonder what this does? i remember what K.J. Holmes said at Bearnstow about ‘wonder’ : part curiosity and part doubt”. 
i find my blog posts self-leaking and self-involved. I was reminded to be a sponge when I was younger – soak up all you can and give. This is good. Except some things I don’t want to soak up or to give. But then I remember that these things are just the things of everything else. and there si nothing to fear. write the thoughts that you think in real time. my finger sbgin i can’t keep up on a keyboard yet. i love the pencil pad marker pen wood canvas… i look to the art pile. time to make. good job on the post, yay fior me! and now to add that image you see above. I don’t know what it is yet in this real time – but in yours you already know. then i’ll go paint… or something.   also. i’ll try less a sponge, more a bubble.  a spongebubble with telescopicsight. love, cole.
I’ve edited this post,and will continue to do so. Now it’ s different in real time. … That reminds me – it is also so with my art.
FYI: if you have  a piece of my art work know that i reserve all rights to change it if ever i see it and want to do so in real time. more love, nico9LE) typo memory of ‘9 spaces’! 🙂

7.11.16 edit

changed some of the language above. kept its desperation and some of the typis i love and keep.

isn’t it interesting as we look back on our written explanation of thought and emotion, our process of writing / explaining / sharing in some way, our involvement in one existence or another – how much of our perceived experience, our lived life is still.

still unnoticed.
still living in us. and how much of it has moved through.

it is all one thing.
and what of it?

love it.

i remember and imagine sitting at Bearnstow with all of the people.
thank you. I can feel it. Still.
love, nicole.