Wednesday, October 12, 2005
I have no one to turn to. After ten solid minutes of complaining about missing The E-Ring and how hard it is to get Arab blood out of the cracks between the floorboards, my companion has left one half hour after her arrival, preferring solitude and the sweet release of the coffee shop to the signs and visions of the Firefly god I once held so dear. I have abandoned it now, though it continues to show me images of bad hand held camera and eyebrow acting. I cannot feel my eyes, and I smell burned toast. There is no going back. At the end of this road lies wisdom, death, and probably impotence caused by radiation.