She's filled with secrets.

It was their hands that built this city of ours, Father. But where do the hands belong in your scheme?
In their proper place, the depths.



I've been contemplating a lot lately. The real purpose of our gray matter.
The meaninglessness of other gray matter. It feels I've a great deal to say but I can only manage to borrow these harrowing thoughts from others.

I think I'm immensely interested in journalism. I took note of this the other day while sitting and stewing against the concrete ledges outside of a born-again Church. I noticed I've a great deal to say and when propositioned under proper circumstances that these thoughts become quite fluid. I want to document my inquisitions. I want to record my curiosity, my boldness. I want others to hear what I have to say and in turn I'd like others to boldly wander into my state of submissive docility in a fearful attempt to answer our own questions.

In other news, the idea of success makes my knees quiver like a scared animal.
In other news, I've become addicted to quoting and sampling.

Allow me to speak of hatred and intolerance.

There's a girl living nearby, whom I only refer to here as Sally, that really gets a rise out of me. And not in a good way. Lets just say Sally happens to be quite the bigot. In a town swarming with bees she is the nectar from which they feed. Her radical beliefs are to be considered highly dangerous and hopefully thought provoking. If anything positive can come from her ignorance, let it be the decision of others to look further. If what is true for her is true for all then in His name I shall kneel in my corner and pluck petal after petal from this hideous botanical nullification. Sally carries the stench of shit and speaks between the delicate lips of those senselessly slaughtered before her. But in a way, I'm grateful. I'm actually somewhat thankful for Sally's miserable existence, if only for it keeping me occupied. She has a hand in keeping me from being completely separated from the rest of my race. She fulfills my need to feel. My ability to feel keeps me falsely in tune with the society encasing me. Otherwise I'm of a completely different breed. She's the curdling sighs at the foot of the gallows where the innocent are emptied and the exasperated panic from the pantie-wetting celebrity sightings at the new hit nightclub on the strip. When you listen closely, there's barely any difference at all.

I'll show you light now. It burns bright forever. No more blue tomorrows.