Amplify the Sounds from the Back-room, and You will Hear Nirvana

You've reached the darkest place you have ever known...your own subconscious. The blind synapses, firing through mud. That's you back there. Back of your head. Staring out into a pathetic wasteland of your lifelong accumulations and acquisitions. Making lifeless decisions based on neediness and site-less decisions. Blind with synapses rage you are. A whimsical creature, not really living. But not yet dead.

Smoking a cigarette on a cloud-forced moonless night in a small city, North-woods, Wisconsin. All alone. Arranging the best possessions you've known: a white Russian with almost no ice in it, a book, and itunes to appease the cerebral cortex. Or was it one of the lobes? Can't tell anymore, never was nor never will be a doctor. Just a pawn on someone else's chessboard. What a night for some wine and a full pack of Doral Lights? Except you have no wine, and only 2 Doral's left. What a feeling to be this alive!!!! Give me more, I say! Haven't felt this alone since 1979, still trapped in my mothers womb and only feeling lonely because I didn't know any better.

I should load the tape recorder with a fresh ribbon, and hit the sidewalks tonight. Make a flask filled with vodka goodness, come home happy and sweaty. 21:47 and I like Autolux. 21:48 and I suddenly love Failure more. Must...buy...wine....tomorrow. Might have a high life after this last w'Russian is completed. Then pass-out into a dreamless sleep. Somewhere, George W. Bush will laugh at how poor and useless I am. National Defense be damned!

Love,

Me