Clouds of Change

Can you feel it? Your reason to live, never knew you had one until it was getting the shit beat out of it, is hanging on by a finger. What about this makes one want to escape? Does this delay the loss - maybe drugs, drink and media delay the crisis? Escape. I think what we're talking about here is change: Ugly, naked, change. You feel it coming. Sniff the air; you're old enough now to know that smell.

Always a new self marching to the front; the multiplicity of self is depressing in the extreme. I want to stay who I am. I like the now, but I know that smell: Placental, wet, sulfur smell of a new self pushing its way to the front fucking everything before it. Good bye. This may be the last you hear from me. I'm slipping and my god damn arrogant next incarnation isn't wasting any time with courtesy.