July 8, 2003
I feel like a machine that is ready to break. My joints are rusty, movements slow and jerky and I'm anxious - inexplicably. Machines don't feel, though. I hardly can. When I get like this, I speak only in metaphors. I am an addict without a fix. I am paying for a high that I never had. I'm the trench of a swell. I'm a virgin sore from fucking. I'm so odd sometimes. It's not like I don't realize it. I just don't care to try and control it. And by "it", I mean "me." I'll just sleep it away.