Below is a transcprit from my heap of documents.
The cold damp drip of a pipe under the floor in a house.
I opened the window. Air rushed inwards, chilling me. Outside there was a goat. I’m not sure what the goat was doing, but there a goat stood. There was a rabbit as well. Bang! The rabbit died, being shot through the neck, leaving its guts intact; its flesh therefore unspoilt by offal. I did not fire the close. Frightened, I closed the window, leaving the farmyard smells behind and turning my attention inward to the house.
I’m sure I can do recreational activities indoors. Ones that don’t involve messing too greatly with my dopamine levels. I do not wish for everyday actions to seem banal. Yet my life drags out into a bore regardless. Even written word, which used to excite me seems to be a bore. Maybe if I can find the right combination of characters and words I will be enthralled. Maybe some erotic fiction in which I can live out my lewd fantasys.
The duck waddled, quacking and nibbling on grass. Quack quack, quacking the quacker. Quack quack. Then the duck took flight, like a heavy jumbo jet barely able to sustain its own weight, the duck took off. It soared, sort of, flapping a lot. Then landing as gracefully in on a pond as a duck could. Water rippled on the surface. Quack quack, the duck quacked triumphantly. Then the duck paddled around like a simile of some sort of large boat that carries cargo. Then the duck inverted itself in the water so its head was pointing downward and its tail feathers pointed vertically. Presumably the duck was nibbling on pond weed, but it is difficult to assertain extainly