life go in every direction except rewind

hear nah, mos def yasin bey so good i cyah delete the doubling and sometimes tripling of his albums in my player because when i search him and just play all, i fucking love when just as i get sad, like the final sentences of an amazing read, because a bes' track finish, the fucking track come again!
noted [only] those words days ago because the thought came when that was all i could spare time for. i return now, days later remembering gist only, start reading+remembering+enjoying, then sight of the last (forgotten) words unexpectedly snaps my brain to: i wish fred could come again...
and the black hole threatens to swallow me, engulf my need to write, to speak in the moment, instead of so long after that i struggle to remember and anxiously doubt my accuracy, veracity; i want to at least know+intend when fictionalising...

walk good.