I want something so eye catching is spurs everyone to believe. Everyone to partake. I want a life so full of curiosity and answers, joy and adventure that everyone wants apart of it. I want something that everyone wants. I want to have that. I want to be envied. To have people fight over that dream. I want everyone, no matter if they want it or not, to feel something when they talk to me, when they see my life, my actions. I want them to feel a certain something. Even as my hands travel over this electric plastic machine I call a computer. I am translating my feelings without a thought to an interface that records my animate feelings. I am so far removed from any of this electric stimulus. I wish I could capture your heart. If you were here right now I would. I would touch your face. I would look deep in your ryes. And I would mouth those words. No matter. I am slightly bruised. Definitely intoxicated and all I find myself wondering is what will tomorrow bring. I’ll go to sleep tonight peacefully, open a book before I drift, and read the words of Rousseau. Sick and lost. Just like all the rest. All the writers. All the philosophers. They are lost and drifting. An assimilation of their remote, narrowed experiences. Sleep with that man. He makes you feel that way. He makes you wet. That’s not genuine. That’s not becoming. He’s intelligent. That’s bullshit. He’s a senile atheist just like you. Which is why you warm so closely…. I ramble and ramble and ramble and