Carnegie by night, Caligari by day. The confusion that accompanies the world in which all are adversaries unless proven otherwise clogs imagination and stimulates doubts. Night terror as a kid seemed petrifying but this is worse. Who there understands me? Do I understand me? Is it my tats? My studs? Because I drive a Geo? Lord I lay myself at your forgiving feet like a lamb (or at least a lambchop sock puppet) and beseech thee to open my deadbolted heart and maybe share a mudslide with me? I still have trouble faking angst. Anguish is indignation lacking testosterone. In the seven steps, that one is so far skipped over that If you laid dollar billar bills from here to there all themoney here would be taken by someone who thinks money on the ground is a sign (me). Why is buying a tech product for someone else exasperating? Maybe because I like to pck out MY things, I think everyone should be like that. It's part of reclusion feigned or otherwise. There is so much happiness in napkin notes that all the complicated demands can't diminish. Is it the view from a train or watching it pull into the station then getting on it that is the seductive part of choo-choos? I keep picturing Marilyn in the upper berth in Some Like it Hot and wonder where that fits in the answer. I ain't a bloke who uses ain't, so forgive me for putting the speculative in the speculum. The weird thing about an army of ants is they're clueless and leaderless. There's hope in Hope. When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bike. Then I realized that The Lord doesn't work that way, so I stole one and asked him to forgive me.