is it me or is it him. i think its him. i missed the party last night wishing i could get drunk only to immerse my thoughts in liquid, watch the bubbles rise and pop. i'm in an existential crisis again i say but its the same one and i know it sounds grandiose and is only everyday normal mental trouble. i still notice things, but i cant get a feel for the whole works you know, they say everything that rises but also everything falls apart. i notice some buddy some good neighbor is putting trash in the compost. some buddy is non compost mentis. 
maybe they think what the hell, everything is going to the same place, and we're all crazy here.

i remember sara p. saying we are just here to deliver trash to the rats who are the real master race. i wonder if thoughts are just compost to mix with the trash and our brains just trash mashers and compost machines.