Order for Do Not Resuscitate.

...that this world is falling apart. Once I saw the thirteenth advertisement for a plea to "raise your voice without saying a thing," I realized my spectacles had long since been tinted a dead gray. I'm looking out upon a child swinging his arms in the air like a mad beast laden with woe. He screams, "I am a blackberry phenomenon and I love the way the Walton's give me LOW LOW OPTIONS!!!" We are inside of one another fighting for a way out. I met a gypsy cyberpunk who told me of his days flinging oversized computers into the Pacific. It was the only way he could hack into the system. I suggested he take his chip out and cleanse it in the waters of solitude. He sneered at me with obvious glee: "I won't be taken for a ride by an acid reflux disease of the mind." With the world gone will the information junkie fold? Like a wasted paper bag will he flutter in the breeze, caught up in all of our past misgivings? The hard drive is the long drive and we've been on this drive for a long, hard time. It's all about to give up one of these milliseconds. Keep your eyes peeled for the shapes shadowed on the wall. When they begin to vibrate incongruously I'll be there to unplug you.

Sin is Always Fun at First

Dramatic outings carry themselves from the lake stumbling. Confessions of a hanged man: Sin is always fun at first. You're left thinking of the past; left wondering whether you are the shining example of goodness you once thought. All choices have come together and everyone keeps saying, "You must be so excited." You can only reply with a vague shrug. Maybe I've gone too far? Maybe it's never been the gold rush but the oil boon. Maybe I've got a pocket full of cash long since turned to ashes. No, they do have value, these rings cast of precious metal pawned as spent fossil fuel. Though these pollutants poured into my soul may be causing the smog, that bright pink sunset leaves me with the hope that the pollution may be a benefit. The back and forth of a guilty conscience will produce some solace, some content. Content with leaving for a while, you know those loving creatures leaving marks on your memory will be here when you return. A dream informs you of what will be when it won't be and how things might be. A nightmare seems to be what was and all that may be if things weren't. A waking moment gives clarity to life; telling you there is pain with your existence. That aching back lets you know you've arrived. From the world of nothing but wisps of smoke to the world of tactility and touch. Facility is rough; for that which allows the ease of use can often create the loss of meaning. It's been such a free flow run for now that the truth has been overcome by the need-to-know. Agency is tough; for that which allows for use of power can often create a nameless victim. Without knowing who wronged who there is a loss of order. You've forgotten why your emotions are playing tricks on you.