yeah, it's 8:30 am

2003-09-24, 8:32 p.m.

i woke up at 7 am, could you have spilled blue watercolors on everything? on the walls and the sky, the rooms smelled like flower water, i felt like the shivering glass vase. could i have writtend, described, comprehended the absolute white of the supernavas, careening down the fence on there potato vines, and i still look around wondering where the night went.

what scares the night into day, what drives the earth to shine in the eye of a star born observer.

the advertisement for life would rea something like this: it's hard to be a human being, it's harder than anything else. you can escape the anxiety for a while, just by denying the innate responses, emotions, and beauties that were gifted to your species. the guise is temporary, and numbing will find your veins, and your heart, in time. red pill, blue pill, dicotomy to your existnece. just choose the one which brings zealous nerves, ever refreshed eyes, ears that ache for silence and noise in a steamy dance where nobody leads, a nose which writes its epitaph in scent, and above all; the inner self which becomes a fisher boat in the ebb and flow.

FUCK NUMBNESS.