These are the days of apathy when any hint of true feeling is like a drop of blood in an endless sea, fading out of sight as it disperses into its surroundings. Histories seem unimportant because yesterday and tomorrow don't exist. Everything is simply trapped in this great ball of coalescing energy. Weariness devours fear and sleep becomes our temple. Surviving to survive our bodies become machines that we oil with whatever keeps us moving. Our brains forests of electricity that even the most brilliant men fail to navigate. The addict builds. Lost in the forest with his talisman the addict tears at the trees, restructuring all that existed before. And whether this puts him in more or less control his mind is always what he makes it.
