What I wanted to say is that I'm just so confused about what I should do. I'm paralyzed. Interested in everything, committed to nothing. Photography? Psychology? Brains? Beer? Eyes? Words? All the options All the choices All the opportunities start to seem the same start to seem all together the same seam here as at the start of that other same sane and seemly seam, seemingly seamlessly sleeping and dreaming of the very same insane steaming sea of seams that seem to stream me along, unseemly spiels selling spells spilling pills the same it seems as you've seen since the start of this same endless sea of seams that must be seen to the seeming end all the same, see?

And what's left over is just dregs, words washed up like driftwood on pristine beaches, untouched.

(+4 louder)

a churning yearning yawning inside
Certain sacrifices, compulsory conformities and scheduled concessions must be made in search of success.

I am now at a point in my life where things have changed for me and all is not the way it once was. In fact, nothing is the way it once was anymore. Seven years is all it takes I hear, and not one cell remains. The magic seven, seven little birds sitting on a fence, you know how that old rhyme goes. So everything's changed. The physical and the mental. Fortunately not entirely a state of deterioration, actually the expansion of mind has been extensive. But dry rot is the first thought, and entropy always enters into the equation if time is taken into consideration at all. My shoulders are knotted and my stomach is soft.

I'm going to destroy something. Not that anyone will notice. A death too small to smell, a tolerable hollow.

Have you ever thought about coming face to face with yourself? My chest aches and my shoulders roll restlessly, feet atwitch, I'm trapped in myself. Shades drawn, aware but unconcerned...didn't you live this life with me, can't you see what might be?

Subconsciously I consistently insist on the persistence of the past, my love.

( louder)