Were I willing to be lying I could now write that I reminisced about someone in 1974 I met in San Clemente, kept in touch with and after his return to his native City several times visited him. However, this sentence I wrote just to afterwards ask Francis to send me an e-mail as I did not find his e-mail address on his blog.
Anyway, contemplating I was.
For example, about the many decisions I made in my life that with hindsight could be considered as (bloody) mistakes, without making those mistakes very probably, though, I would not have experienced, would not have been allowed to experience what I have experienced, and thus would not have become what / who I am.
Did you count the Is?
14, if I [15!] counted well.
And did I [16] ever tell that, as soon as I [17] realise that almost each sentence is containing of at least one 'I' - preferable at the beginning - I [18] would know enough about the very person's personality (to not being overly interested about her respecively him)?
That is why I [19] do spontaneously decide ... and by now did ... to spare you further details.
Ah ... with one exception: I [20[ am tired to repeat myself.
Those who happened to stumble upon this blog two or three years ago and felt fancy to follow it - I [21] don't like the word 'followers'; but this could easily be another story that might be told ... or not - will, so to speak, know Omnium (which is everything), anyway, and thus the essential inherent interior essence which is [not] hidden in the root of the kernel of everything I [22] wrote, so far.
While coming to a decision, looking through the window, I [23] thought 'How interesting', (before I [24] had written 'How amazing' but cancelled this as I [25] don't like exaggerations / superlatives ), fumbled for my camera and took some photos, one of them you see below and which told me:
There are more things between outside an inside, Sean,
than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
