i'm in the process..
of losing my mind. things are becoming, all to familiarly, frustrating. paper makes us do what we do. colored paper makes me tired and weary during long eight hour days soon to become 12 and 13 hour days. at long last the days grow thinner and dull like tempera paint on clean tangible paper. back to paper. it never leaves. walking away, only to find myself lost. how do you find yourself lost? why do we ask those questions? ...life is but an escape... to what? you can't. it's impossible. you are forced entirely unto this ground to serve and beg. beg for worth. beg for meaning. i'll trade you this paper money for that assemblage of muffin tops. thank you.