"The protections are out there for those who believe. I do not believe."

Life's greatest tragedy is that we can not dig our own graves with any real sense of dignified finality. For who shall smooth over the earth while we patiently lay in wait on the bottom? Ah, my kingdom for a pinch of telekinesis to this blackened brain! My heart coughs when I lay still, stifled by cigarettes and too many drugs, and I know that without trying, I am soiling the tools of my intellect by digging this hole in the ground, which sits, unnamed and heavy in its emptiness, waiting for its true purpose to be outwardly ordained. Meantime, treat this as an opus, or a game of pick-up-sticks. My whole life is a love letter to the collective unconscious:

Dear Selves, let me work you into a frenzy by presenting you with my inner monologue. I am jacking off my inner artist, the orgasm shall be presented to you in Surround Sound and the delightful sensations of technicolour. Enjoy!

Forever and Evanescent,