i’m not up for consciousness or chipperness or counting eggs or attentiveness. selling out has burned an inevitable hole in my suit of industrial-strength-anti-authority-pro-self-inflicted-chaotic-matter. one day i’ll wake up a broken man. probably living in a nice house filled with gadgets that can’t put together the pieces of my soul because, well, technology won’t ever be that advanced.
poetic eh? sure why not. i’d like to pretend that i can deal with this crap (and i do because reality demands so) but it spills out a bit every second of the day. not adverse at all to sounding whiny or juvenile. it’s part of the package y’see.