All day long I sleep and dream dreams where I come up just short of the basket or can leap tall buildings. Last night it was not the girl under water but a murder that I carried out and immediately regretted. Hindsight in your dreams is sharper then 20/20. But yes, it is mostly sleeping that precedes working. These two things make up the centrifuge that is my day. My record does not skip but it does repeat, you see. Admittedly I keep you in mind while writing everything, anything, in the name of style and muse. As far as style goes, I can’t manage more then a few lines without surrendering back to my normal linear ways. The muse, well you’ll probably always be there for that because I’m not sure ill ever be over the idea of the brace. I remember and I feel like I am dreaming. It might be because the process leaves me feeling as if I have killed something but the thoughts are cloudy without a taste and im not sure if I can trust them anymore. How are you doing, though? Really? I do wish that you had been more truthful to me. I ponder this request and wonder how out of line I am. Once upon a time you told me that I was the best friend that you had. I scanned the list in your phone book that goes on for roads and roads and I am humbled. Still you know confessions don’t make a difference. You’re just another sinner once you get out of that booth, just another dirty blasphemer. So I use this idea to justify your crucifixion and the relief that it helped garner lasted about 3 days until you arose back in my head. I am coerced by my brain to consider the fact that you were being as honest as you could be with me. This theory is salt in a self inflicted wound. You would just tell me to give it up if you knew, but you don’t, so you won’t. It is ironically hard to know you and this is most clearly the problem at hand. Having exposed this truth, confronted the root of my gripe, I don’t know why I still associate you with that deadly three word mantra. So it goes. shoot up.