Every day is a loop that proves nothing but the futility of time. Sweat marks on the white comforter. It’s so impossible just to exist. My night terrors have taken over my waking life and I’m finding it impossible to remember what it’s like to be awake. I can respond exclusively to the vagrants that walk the streets. Their voices sing in the only tone I can isolate against the howling wind. Like which entrance warrants use. Like the dog-shit that covers the sidewalk. The many multitudes of man’s existence. Screaming into the dirt of trees. What the fuck is narrative. I will never go to a baseball game. I’m jealous of anything that spends more time in the air than I do. To navigate the city, it is best to become familiar with both the secret tunnels running beneath the streets & the inhabitants of these tunnels. This is where true knowledge resides. The streets are walked only by the howling wind & men who care about nothing but worship. Firm laundry reeks of a false privilege. Learn how to see in the dark, the dark is where capital’s transparency is revealed. Nothing means anything. Anything can mean nothing. Explosions on every street corner. This revolution is a terrible joke. Communication is ecstasy. Sidelined to god.