Prelude to Postscript

I hate people--at least now. Judgemental and vile , at least I only have one more month. I'm going to become a hermit, a recluse because I can't stand a lot of things. The drinking? Oh Christ, make them afraid. The gossip?

Frankly, I was expecting to come unto this creator and be blessed by the muse of God but I have been torn towards virulence. An opiate to satiate the copulation--you've broken my heart.

I want God. I want fear. I want life. I want stability. I'm funny and loud, yes, but the ballast has been offset and my boat is tipping aft.

I'll leave it to Bob Dylan:

All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name

I just want away. To swim away.

All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name

"If you paddle away you know we'll find, and put, you back in this vesicle colony of mute vernacular. No dramatic means of fencing against this solitary sickness as it precipitates gun flare shots firing into the armpit of this mecharest home. Because when it rains, you know it poors." -The Mongrel Tarants