I’ve got to do better than this, at least fifteen minutes a day, maybe.

Let’s just jot down weird shit floating around in my mind.

[A] dream (yesterday or the day before):

Killing people (shooting them) inside a blue house. …[S]trip clubs, the importance of drainage, rats fighting chickens (an embryologist’s lab gone haywire?)

Ah, the fragmented minutiae.

Contentment yesterday [was] fleeting, like surface tension, the act of realing you are falling will cause you to fall. Next year is [all] darkness unless I somehow figure [it] out…

[A] story:

The Matrix (OK, maybe my version.) As an agent (cf. Damned If You Do. It’s an all right book, I appreciated the English flavor (neo-T.S. Eliot) and the deconstruction of male sexuality. What, what?

OK, this is pointless, I’ve got to keep writing, my heart feels like it’s going to burst, this is the thing I need to do, I needed to do it even when I forgot…. Fuck. Madness.

I am frantic with power, this power of release, my substitute for orgasm, mental orgasm (mental masturbation?) cf. cumfer, to bear together, carry together, oh I am losing my mind, there is no gravity, who is this locked in a cage, I can’t afford to think, just follow that slide to the bottom, can’t I stop to think and be content? Not delusional[ly] content, like everything is going to turn out OK, but real[ly] content, the realization that this is the way things have got to be, and I’ll be a survive so long as I keep my wits about me.

I still wonder where God is. Did they capture you playing skeeball again?

I am waiting for sleep, I suppose.

Still I wonder, it’s too late to wonder, there is no hope, I must accept this undoing.

New York or L.A.? Still no answer. East or West? Now that I’m here… I have duties to keep me busy, but come the Crash….

I cannot bear this utter desolation, of living my life only to pay the unpayable debt.

I can accept this so long as it’s understood that this is a transient circumstance, a puzzle I onle need to work my way through, and not a terminal condition. So long as it will pass.

So when ought I to set the threshold? (Extend the time frame long enough, and the survival rate for everyone diminishes to zero

Fuck. What would I do with my life anyway?

Trapped, trapped, but I need my walls, cannot have this infinite anterior, posterior, medial, lateral, I am just scrawling now, only because I can.

I dare not read this again, unearth the unresolved turmoil.

So many things I need.

Commit to something.

…

Am I willing? Futility. Blas, in the face of rifle fire, what did you do? Why were you driven to do what you did?

Sadness, stillness. Everything, nothing.

I still hvae to saw through the rib cage before I get to the heart of the matter. I am unsure that I want to deal with it now.