my problem is that i sleep too well. And the reason why i think the metaphor of sleep serves us well in this instance is because sleep denotes something natural, external of the individual volition. Can (will) we be held accountable for the degree to which we are capable of sleeping well? i hear you say, "i cannot control how many chromosomes i was born with," yes but the beatings will continue until somebody listens. you will suffer because you cannot sleep well, and you will suffer because you sleep too well.

there hasnt been any deaths in the family, and im not crying. but what i am crying for is greener grass. Only then can i cry for some nice brown grass- dirty, parched grass full of the kind of dirt you can really sink your teeth into.

she left me, but i still slept ok at night. sometimes i get a lyric, but i just cant get out of bed. there's entropy for you.

*less and less sure that my previous desires for neuroticism arent coming true, because what i find is that im good (perhaps too good) at acting like a normal person. but do i want to be a normal person, or do i want to be dangerous? dangerous is overrated. normalcy is rated about right. im positively 100 percent sure its rated about right. its universal- it transcends the age. everyone everywhere knows it, dont ask me how, they just do. they can sense it from the stars. its amazing. they all come to the same conclusion, so that if i meet someone living on an untouched island in the south pacific, they would know, i mean they would just know. and they could be living 500 years ago too, and they would know, for sure, with absolute certainty, they could count on it.

am i crying yet? no. check. no. Is our journey through the unknown complete yet? no. can i trace the roots of this back to an incident, one strange occurrence of being denied this year? yes. i mean, i guess im hurting in all those kind of ways, hurting in the ways im not hurting. but you did hurt me, so i guess im doing alright.

im gonna ask you, im gonna ask you about justice. im gonna say, "what do you think about justice?" and perhaps you will cower in fear in that way that is so familiar to all of us, that way which has now crossed the line of that which is excusable. and we're gonna gang up on you, and im gonna smear it in your face a little, especially when we'll all be dressed up so nice. and you will sweat in that heat because something, something is on the line.

here, you may be confused as to whether i am talking about God, or some girl, but let me tell you, they are really the same. let me tell you about how i decided a few weeks ago that God is the husband, and i am the bitching wife who spends all his money, and freaks out and yea plays that part. but i always come back to him, theres an understanding there, and even in our hate there is love. so the absent girl is just like the absent god, so its somewhat of a long distance relationship, and there is a lot of silence. but i scream a lot, and slam doors, and run out of the house, and get really jealous, but he gets jealous too. and lonely, o, let me tell you how lonely i get.

let me tell you how lonely she left me. for i gave and gave and gave for her, but it was not her fancy. and then, and then, God defriended me on facebook. o my god, what am i going to do? he doesnt even want to be acquaintances anymore! and yet, you say, we return again to the issue of justice - there were times when some lover fell for you and she was not your fancy. yes, yes, i will be punished, but dont steal the justification for my anger, or, to put it another way, dont steal the justification of my irrationality. i can only manage to be irrational so often, so dont screw it up.

but lets get back to it- how lonely she left me. she moved away, and i dont know what shes doing. but ive been thinking lately, that we probably werent a good fit. i realized it when i realized that i had to fake it to her to make it. then i found out that, to varying degrees, she was conning me the whole time. what do you do with that? ill tell you what you do with it, you stay up till three in the morning writing stories about it, thats what you do with it.

you always said you wanted me to write you a story. but forgive me, this one's probably more for myself.

but who can really distinguish anyway?