It is a shameful thing to kill oneself in ways. I have now killed what I was becoming... partly out of some semblance of need for the organism as a whole and partly because I was scared of that beast; but he is done and dead.
at least he left me with the gift of walking. Thank you strange thing, though I will never really know you; my strange aborted self, I know you. I know you.
There's something else here though, a festering boiling cauldron of something under the surface.
It means the bridge breaks or I throw myself off of it or my geiger counter is all fucked up. Most likely the latter as that's been the case for years and years now.
Seriously, you'd think I was old hat at this stuff by this point.
That's the problem with humans, we never learn.
That's also the problem with hotel rooms and solitude for an extended period, you spend more time in your head than is healthy; which, I do anyway. This means you think things like this:
"Perception is invalidated by the thoughtstorm. If one has to ascribe something to another thing then the original thing becomes that thing itself. Therefore, everything is questionable and that which appears to be not so is doubly so at its very core. The core is something we throw away because arsenic builds up in the system and is never fully released, yet without it we would not have the internal heat of the mantle. Through this, one knows the place is over the pulpit and fire with brimstone is better than that without but orphans are not those who should complain. I would, indeed, sew mouths shut if I heard such happening from my lips, but my lips were never meant for kissing."
These are the things you think when it's 2 am and you can't sleep and you have another day of Sacramento ahead of you. (I mean 2 am in a prior night, not tonight obviously because it is only 9:30.)
If you read this, I am sorry; and thanks. I feel better.
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