for the tricycle of a night, I conclude my life is becoming a literary event and I feel the poetry seep through every moment tinged with a beautiful narcissism some would call belief in myself or self-love self-help I'll-help-myself, thanks. I finally discover a glancing insanity of charm and wit- liberation, insanity, perspective, depends (on what) ?

I am slowly a freeman working freely in the free market freaking out in ecstatic *** for the world as a whole and even being kicked out of a pretty girls room for obnoxious insomnia gives me a reason to kiss the clear sky of melancholy happy-sad with another 'thank you' for making me whoever the hell I am, GOD, THANK YOU

it's another beautiful day in paradise, tossing dice to skew the probability in the direction of *it's the beautiful whatever and you're welcome for everything