April 21st, 2002 - 2:00 p.m.

The epidemic of age, clubbing, and awfulness.

The primary fault found in people who claim to have aged, wizened, joined the ranks of adulthood, is that everything is less precious to them.

Why this self enforced detachment from the human condition? Should one not allow all emotions to surface and analyse them in order to understand?

It may be non conductive to mechanical efficiency; though really now, you know we are not meant for such a role.

Perhaps all that is requested is more poetry amongst the general population.

The surgical removal of hollow agendas.

At a club last night. The primal gyrations of animals looking for a mate, looking for a good time. Drinking. Smoking. All seemed so wrong. So dissolute. These good looking youth, in their semi artistic yet ironic over priced outfits; a prize for the one with the least covering. One should not be sober in these surroundings, causes general depression; too late. Happiness is not found at the bottom of a glass, dears. Happiness is not found in your bizarre courting rituals. But really, you would not listen anyways. So instead, I shall try my best not to stab this ice pick into my eye.

Sigh.

This feeling of rootlessness. Orphanhood. Shall plant firmly to the chest. Tentacles wrapping around the sternum. Tips cutting the heart and fragile lung tissue.

Have allowed the world to break my heart again. This pain. Crippling nausea. On the brink of tears.

�Come on now, left foot, right foot. Its called walking!�

N.

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