Day No. 693: Moving chains under my feet.

Pretty soon, when my bubbles burst, the soles will hurt too much.  My feet burns under the the leather and rubber.  No piggy back ride for me, I am a guy, guys don't get piggy back rides.  We are too heavy.  The things we carry are too heavy.  Lay it down, lay your burden down, and drink in the rivers.  Into the rivers I cleanse my soul, swept by its undertow.  I will never revel in the dream, always dragging the chains, the bind me to the earth.  

This island is not quiet...  as I walk upon the shores... the land is never still, time never ceases to stand still as I open these eyes.  I want to close them and listen to want I want and not what I need.  Oh, saint of the gutters, 
you have gone too soon.  
We don't grow but we change new clothes and we are still the same, 
always chained to this Earth.

Day No.689: 34 Degrees Celcius

I wonder what's more hot, absolute temperature or emotional temperature?  I think the answer's relative.  I haven't slept like a log so everything else seems either hot or orange in colour.  My cell's orange so, that doesn't help.  I haven't ran for a week.  My cellmate hasn't called either.  Emotionally, I'm getting stronger I think.  Friedrich Nietzsche didn't kill me so I'm happy at least.  I wonder if people are getting stupid, like they are de-evolving into sub intelligent spicies, people with opposable thumbs yet behaving like 10 year olds.  

I wish other cell mates happiness, yet they seem to have underestimated the weight of it.  I purely meant spiritual happiness and contentment, anything else seems purely superficial, like looking at Dorian Gray.  

Everything swept under a rug
Nobody cares but desires a better
Thing on themselves
Doesn't it feel heavy?
The human centre is wrecked
by colours and smell
They cannot see beyond
what is in front of them
A dead picture, so many
We haven't really grown
For the past two thousand years.
Sorry Plato, sorry Jesus.
We didn't learn.  Sorry.

Day No. 676: Nat Naidar is born.

Today, I ate some chicken, now I'm getting hot inside, no good. I'm getting restless and my mind speaks in 4 different languages, telling me to stop thinking. How can I think when they're all talking at the same time?

Chickens are birds which die of a disease caused by man and then it comes around. Man I feel that if we keep this up, what kills us is not the bomb but by our stupid need to burn the fuel like forever and ever. God, make it stop.

Where do we go from here? Where do I go? Why do I answer so many questions that need no answering? I need an answering machine. I swear to you I'm so tired. Not of living but of life. I need a chemical alteration.

I need to be reborn, the opposite of me undone by my willingness to lie on this bed of thorns. It hurts but I must sleep.