I am just sad and cold and want to die. I am teasing the edge. I can write now, I can write. But not for long I’m already done. There where the ideas of the new era somewhere, locked away in my head waiting for the release of incomprehensible advisors. They kind lathed in blathered pink and with poly-chrome hats, dancing on the rivers boat-moon-spell moments, the kind that happened to every kid at every intangible, hallucinated camp. The one they make up in their head before bed on the streets in the muddy motel alleyway dirt. I couldn't hold back the want to die. As I sat there perched bellow the roofed rim of the building I could feel the splashes of water grace around my ankles, the water had been soaking for hours. I was the always rain. It never stopped, not once in the history of our race. We had to find houses along the rocks, soil was apart of the sea, or at least that’s the way I understood it. There was not time for anything besides keeping dry. It was really a mater of wet or less wet, there was nothing anyone could do about it. The earth moved without relent. I see a ***** in the ****** mary. I know because everyone else I know does too, we just want to be polite about it, not make to much racket. I debate even writing again. To who? an upcoming age of enlightenment? To say what is already been said by the mind of every mind in every place, that we are the collective unraveling of the fabric of our own making. I am the turtle. It finally hit me, I am the meekest of all of them, the slowest and most looked down at. I am the capacity of a nuclear wave. I am the only one who knows of my own power. A crazed soul I am. Sold into my own slavery again! I just wean to hear you breathe, to prove there are the balance and manifestation of the infinite love I hid away in my mind. The one love I created with one thought. I am the product of the indoctrination, they left a bomb in my mind. I am altered among the alter and always dying. No one should have to see their soon to be dead mother crawling around on the ground like a bug waiting to pounce on your leg. Too close to home and too soon for my own mind. Some girl who's name started with an M, it's fuzzy and I haven't the clue to remembering. Its all over finally, they are done, I am impenetrable by their foggy morning evergreen attacks. Try to leach and drain off of my unconscious collective. My hive honey. my meat. They are nice in the dream of reality, but in every way they are spiders waiting for the kids to come, they will feed on me first. They will eat. Always i remember our own journeys and I forget to dance most of the time, loose eye lids sweating now, A video arcade. Finished.