You there.

Headache. 24-hour-old grime on me skin. I've suffered 23 deaths in my head. I haven't done anything I'm sufficiently proud of lately. Everything is like this colony of lesser planets revolving around a sun that refuses to glow. This is the third installment of the ten-thousand and more-part global collective consciousness report according to mr. russ raniel ligtas, recently elected, ruler of himself who speaks on his behalf. (Nonsensical, I know).

I've been thinking to much, haven't felt a lot but yes, thought. Not that I've figured some new philosophy in making art or discovered the cure for AIDS or came up with all the answers to life, the universe, and everything- just too much brain activity, the kind that doesn't get things done or sell anything.

Something tells me somebody thinks I'm evil. That person is right I believe, and that I don't know why. Haha. I've probably viewed like 8 movies in the past 48 hours, I'm not proud of that either. I thought I'd read holy week away, but the books are still on the shelves. I sleep at 4-5 am and wake up at noon in most days, yesterday I woke up at 4. Now that's a record. Well, I did wake up a number of times in between but slept soon after.

This is boring. I'm gonna sign off now. Super Perfundo.