i finally have the time to read Animal Dreams, but only because mister is Sick.

yes it's better to be lonely by choice rather than nobody wants you.

photographs begin in memory.

he lies mute, hearing only in the tactile way that a spider hears, touching the threads of the web with long extended fingertips and listening. listening for trapped life.

you're here to pass on your knowledge and to change these primitives.

when the shepherds shear, and starve, and sell, but do not feed.

imperfect education makes the rank and file of revolutionists.

intellect throws man back upon himself into a solitude from which he looks out with utterly strange eyes.

the desire of the sons of anarchy is, indeed, to dispense with leaders, for since all men in the formula are equal, it is unreasonable that one should lead rather than another.

if the spectacle touches him, it rouses interest and compassion, his feeling will be for those tender ones.

brother hershey in, They coulda been wearin' masks, i don't Know..

i go home and pray on mister. mom says but who do you pray to. i say no false gods, i just pray.

the last picture i took of mister before they took out a foreign body lodged in his lower intestine. i found a nickel and this tinkerbell falling off of mister's head. i'm so fucking sad.