2001-11-17 - 8:52 PM

One day I'll be a physician and rule the world with scalpels and tools, scalpels and tools make a man feel fine. Penguin gerbils in a blender fix, men with hats and garbage cans. Can't grasp this because it's not it and it's something I can't define. Lots of typos, heads with three doors. That's right -- doors of perception. Breath and choking and not moving in a field of stimuli justly approved for my perception. Facists. Government facist with no sense of justification for their insane logic. Subliminals. I'm not sure about this but maybe there's truth to it, because i'm always right in my own head. Ignore the noise and the man behind the curtain. I have no words in that space and no mind to fill the toxic waste. Colors that doen't exist in real life. It's like that on purpose, asshole. But it doesn't matter now that we're all alone and it's stupid but it's true, just fish in a tank. Bricks in a wall, fish in a tank. Unedited, and underexcited.