the voice dissipated and broke apart and now it's just watching meat on a hook being pulled through a tube. the environment is dry and light filled and uncomfortable. effort exists for it's own sake. it has a weird autonomy that i don't understand, but it keeps plodding along. ok with me i guess. classes this semester are dissapointing save for Mr. Greg Lock's because it forces me to do things i wouldn't bother with on my own because my hands are lazy lazy about keeping up .

I have to wonder where the well is ,. i see a boring pattern emerging. bored with life these days. there's always some fact that neutralizes everthing else and the soil has turned white and i watch a round blobby monster sucking the horizon. what is forward worth if forward has no roots.