your obsessions in life become the way you die.

What's more romantic than dying in the moonlight?

My perception of time, of distance, of boundaries, of depth . . . Is fucked. 

Really, truly, honest-to-Christ.

But you know what? 

What seemed eternally outside of my grasp is finally only eight hours away. 

Conceivably so!

In the time it takes to sleep, I could drop my heart in a gutter.

554 miles, and it still seems close enough to reach out and touch.

Maybe I'll reach out and touch it some day.

I'm worried about writing . . .

There are two worlds, you know. And inspiration can pour out of either one like a leaky kettle, whether or not you have your tea cup ready. Who has the eyes to see this? And do those with the eyes have the time of day it takes to make note of it?

I do love having a job. I do love being able to afford things and return what has been given to me. But what kind of price am I paying for it?

Everything has it's price. Everything has it's place. Make your money, because it leaves you faster than it comes your way. *Sigh*

Everyone's an acolyte, just like me.

I can't make the two worlds hold together.