hatred of all things good and pure. is that how things are starting out? rushing headlong into a dark cave, only to be attacked by . . . assist me in lying in bed and dreaming heavily, being fully present. assist me in being there to hear, respond to little vocalizations. each extension is everything all at once. but time spent in petty ways. you choke yourself with a rope of dollar bills. that is not a profound statement in an early morning, but mourning in observing with a third eye. it is too early for news, or for bombs to start dropping. how is it no one respects this? you glare at me. you make it obvious this is not my home, that I am not welcome here, and I respond by making a run for it. the big jails of the world spend in counterfeit.