porn, super porn
2004-02-16 | 11:01 a.m.
I took nyquil last night, and my thoughts are all sliding downhill, amorphous. Slippery. l'blah. The microphones always makes me feel drowsy. Hamilton is persistently ringing his bell, with a goofy smile on his face, thinking that at any moment I'll come running down the hall to take him outside. At the moment, however, I simply cannot summon up the energy. I feel amazingly strange... I live in a daze, I walk in a haze, and I really need a narcotic of some form or fashion. I feel as though I am imprisoned in a dream, looking out. But dreams are never our reality; everything else is the dream, and therefore all of the things I have done or said recently are dream-fragments. Like my letter to Thomas, the persistent ringing of Hamilton's bell, watching a film with Paul. Calling Calvin. These things are almost ambiguous to me. I feel like I am greedily gobbling up everything that I experience. there are many ways in which I could be more altruistic towards others. I opened up ableton live about half an hour and completely forgot about it. perhaps I fell asleep. In a dream one can still soar, and I feel like I am transcending everything in my own inchoate way.

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