(WARNING: this entry promises to be very disjointed and long and possibly boring. Despite the line breaks, this is not a poem

(Oh yeah, and this is probably going to be pretty depressing, so you might want to look elsewhere and wait for the weather to change here.)

This week I've learned the difference between "do you feel sick?" and "where does it hurt?" Ultimately, all pain is in the head You give enough drugs, or you cut up all the nerves And I start wondering: Is it true that pain is what makes us feel alive? </p>

psychosomatic, repressed rage stress headaches, stress ulcers the line about pain and gain is all bullshit it means that something is wrong the red alert the warning light check engine, service required

And I've been running on fumes for years now maybe only deluding myself that I'm actually going anywhere you realize when you get in the car, it's the same trip day-in, day-out 30,000 miles a year to exactly nowhere and the word "progress" just makes me laugh with derision straight lines always run crooked, turn into circles

No matter how far I sail I won't come to the edge of the world There is no end to any of this Even crazy people know that the world is round And that you're doomed to spin and spin and spin

And this space that I'm in is so past hopeless That I've forgotten what that means Nerves burnt out and yet there is this phantom feeling these weird sensation even though I know that what used to be there is gone

And this space tham I'm in is so past lonely That I'm afraid to be around other people I haven't answered the phone in weeks I haven't opened my mail in months And still, and still, no matter how hard I try I still can't wish the world away.

And maybe I'll never beat this As far as I run, or if I sit still

In the end entropy always wins

I held the child that would never have been mine in my arms watched her smile and gaze at the world in wonder and remember why it was that I thought I had fallen in love

To fall in love: I don't really know the difference between this, and the panic of being alone forever

My soul was anesthesized and then they forgot to wake me up

it takes about 8 minutes to permanently damage the soul

and Death all around me and despite this drear nothingness of days passing by with no change of scenery I am afraid to die would rather wallow in grief than lie still and sleep, free of this pain (for lack of a better word) (this dull, aching roar, this bleak vacuum imploding my heart) I am not ready to face Her and her merciless scythe to gaze at all those whom I loved watch them still and forever silent I am not ready but She will not ask anyway

If I could only map out all this darkness and understand the tortured inner workings of my soul

But entire cities disappear as I draw the lines and write the names oceans dry up into deserts and north becomes south

If I can't even understand myself How do I dare to understand another?

How do I mend the break within myself, Much less bridge the gap with the rest of the world?

I do not ask for pity, mostly because I would not know what to do with it, and it would hurt me worse to know that a gift is being offered that I must refuse. I have no idea what I'm looking for. I only know that I've lost something, which I cannot name nor describe.

And maybe I'll never find it, but I wish I didn't have to keep groping pointlessly in the dark.

But like they say, "Humihinga pa, Dum spira, spero" and there's always tomorrow