summatime

You're here to make art. All I do is write words, and you can find them here: http://speak-shout-shiver.blogspot.com/

I know my brain is likely wrong. I know that my brain's machine has lost several steps and curdled protocol along the way. My diagnosis itself, (redundant because how can I not know, being inside myself), states the fact that my brain is misinformed. The actions I've taken to end my life, that desperation and inability to reach out, that is because my actions are reckless and informed by an insane aesthetic that does not know how to handle itself. In this situation, we as a race have evolved to take our cues from others—when we ourselves cannot be trusted, we must act as ghost operators following others' behavior, abandon control of our

I guess I should write at least one journal. And you know, since I'm sick, I should stay in bed. Typing. It's restful no? So I want to explain that "Willy Wonka had it right" statement. It's not about choosing to live locked inside a factory full of candy and odd, sheltered subordinates. It's all about that song Pure Imagination: Willy Wonka: [Spoken] Hold your breath Make a wish Count to three We'll begin With a spin What we'll see Will defy Explanation There is no Life I know To compare with Pure imagination Living there You'll be free If you truly wish to be If you want to view paradise Simply look around and view it A