Bite me

The door is closed, it is quiet, the way I like it because noise is better off left for the dead, or in a soundproof container along with the assorted pandemonium that resides out there and in my mind. I am here, in blissful silence, undistracted, transferring thoughts gathered from somewhere, that I can't say one hundred percent are mine. If they are from another dimension, I suppose I can say they are mine to share, in the way a farmer harvests the corn growing on his land. Sometimes he gets a satisfactory yield, sometimes not so much. Either way, hopefully there is some value, to someone when they take a bite.