While sipping my tea, and ---- xxx--- I was thinking to myself...

The internet does not make you a less lonely place, it only stretches that lazy, willingness part of you due to IT- being lonely.

I saw some good movies. With Vanessa paradais . I think I mis-spelled her name.

There are no more rooms for poets, its on to the rat race.

No idyll moments spent around,

Here's a poem.

Put out that joint, Son.

Go on now.

The Church Bell rings.

Satan is calling in that toke.

The Temple worship stops.

The night turns the sky black.

Except for the crescent moon.

---

Two things.

Whatever, lasts.

on my last day of being tattooed in the studio, as I lay down, like the same for the past several days, and after --------xxxxx----------, as the usual , I felt a suffocating feeling in my chest,

an uneasiness that wanted me to tear out, run and just feel my push into the free air , void of walls. Maybe the hours had caught up, my mind drifting elsewhere, while cells died of second hand smoke probably. I close my eyes when I feel a new circumstance, and the pounding inside comes.

(what i failed to mention before was that my artist was putting the needle in, while my body started to make slight adjustments to the pain, which was noticed, and the feeling in my eyes like i'd pour out like sand .