tonight i live in a small world. haven't yet opened the door to the outside hall and don't know if I will untill tomorow. hermitage isn't the word, but it's close. i feel sick from alcohol, pot, too much sleep, not enough contact and an unshaven face. don't plan on groming more than the usual healthy shower and toothbrush. tonight we eat leftovers and read books. listen to Bowie and wear old coats as we turn the air conditioning up. We play dress up and talk to the furniture, just like little girls do on rainy days. Tea parties. I forget what boys do on rainy days. I think we're supposed to play in the rain, or watch tv. I'm tired of that stuff. Tired of trying to escape this place in which I sit. The place of tired loneliness and sloth. Damn i need a vacation. 
Keep the faith, as something better will come soon, or you'll be shot dead by a crazed redneck fascist. Either way.