I Often Cannot Believe The Things I

I Have No Idea How People Function Without Near-constant Internal Chaos. I'd Lose My Mind.

Maybe He Was More Than The Sum Of His Broken Parts.

I Still Get My News From The Newspaper In The Morning. I Just Have An Affection For Paper, And That's No Secret, I Guess.

My Voice And Movements Are Restricted By The Things I Own.

So I Should Be Aware Of The Dangers Of Self-consciousness, But At The Same Time, I’ll Be Plowing Through The Fog Of All These Echoes, Plowing Through Mixed Metaphors, Noise, And Will Try To Show The Core, Which Is Still There, As A Core, And Is Valid, Despite The Fog. The Core Is The Core Is The Core. There Is Always The Core, That Can’t Be Articulated. Only Caricatured.