with the freedom of space and time it is instinctive for single man to either primitively destroy or primitively create. Until single man understands this it is hard for him to differentiate between the two. Thus he will create nothing but the idea of creation and his own destruction.

i am truly in love when the sun is out. my shiny new things are silent mating calls and self confidence boosting tricks. i strut corridors and pass the artist frequently without looking to pretend i don't care and hope upon desperate hope that some meeting will occur.

. . . so, fittingly, amongst the rubble and ruin, i took a hammer to the hopes and fantastic desires of another. and he so broken and charged took comfort in his captor like some example of swedish syndrome. leaving us with nothing but strange emptiness and ocean licking like out of some dream we came.

honesty is the noblest act whether those ears it falls upon want to hear it or not. i have maintained my reticence this week to analyse the facts and now i must present my findings. i am judge jury executioner. i must do my human work.

a luscious blue sky outside so inviting perpetually cleansing but i i'm skulking these interiors and moving my emotions amongst the paranoid clutter fragments. it's true i have a cold. i enjoy being hooded and acting out the victim.

sometimes it seems necessary to detach oneself from intellectual thought and return to baser instincts to discover a truth. now that i have i wish i hadn't because a blind rage tears through me and i am scared of the things i will say and the typical thing i will become.

This old cynic sick of the new saw precious naive love leave its entrails on a future floor for the losers to laugh at. But not seeing himself he persists with doubting and proclaims weird ensuring definite days of envy and loneliness.

When he returns to his hometown lost and down he spies his first flame and dies again for the dreams that remain.