NOW

Electricity will be cut shortly casting us into the thick darkness.

The smell of fresh snow is floating down the mountains on a soft breeze.

Night time is the time of dogs ... frenzied barks break the silence, roaming near and then far.

Heart melts like dripping wax with the failure of personal composure.

The last nerve is on the razor's edge.

The Brain Pie is sliced too thin.

How long?

How long?

Can this go on?

How long?

The Brain Pie

I feel myself so divergent - scattered in a thousand mental and emotional directions these days, like ice crystals on my kitchen window. My motto these days is "the brain pie is getting sliced into smaller and smaller pieces". Enough people have heard the slogan so that now I can just say, "The Brain Pie!" while I indicate with my finger a slicing motion over my forehead, and it's clear what I mean and feel. Not exactly where I would like to be and I know that it's all in my hands. I take full responsibility for my hardcore positioning, my feverish moods, my derelict spirit. Oh that I don't explode before going home.