Hush child, from the joy to the pain. It'll all wash away in the rain.

We walk with the wicked, like muppets, attached to strings, betting on who will live longer, who will die first. False bet. It is about who will live more colourful. In or outside of his mind is the question. Most people think that having and leading an inner life is incorrect. Craven that people are. There are a lot of poisonous attachments to my skin, I do not know how to wash all this negativism away.

To rotate vigorous in one direction for two minutes while listening to Clint Mansell's Requiem for a Dream and afterwards to let yourself fall on the mattress is like getting a heroin shot into your stinky little toe. (That is just my sick humor if anyone is wondering. I'm no drug addict.)

I need rain at the moment.



Listening to: The Cure - All cats are grey