It took me fucking 21 years to make this message so figure it out.

A Forty-Walt bulb exposed the room as time drifted and dragged. I reached into the light like a Buddha and held my breathe. It was eventually exhaled and released. An innocuous nothingness known as air exited my lungs. I am tired.



LOG: Oct 13, 2014 4:48:18 AM

Sleep is cool. The mind creates and destroys these pits called dreams. It’s something foreign, hidden, and buried like treasures. It’s as beyond my eyes as magic. Conversations with a pitch black room, I want. If there is logic in the night I bet it’s cold and lonely. This silence doesn’t mean shit.