To some of us, the nights are too long. To some, the days.

Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.

and i can't stand the idea of being alone. i can't bear the thought of being free.

People had been working for so many years to make the world a safe organized place. Nobody realized how boring it would become.

I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.

You realize that people take drugs because it's the only real personal adventure left to them in their time-constrained, law-and-order, property-lined world. It's only in drugs or death we'll see anything new, and death is just too controlling.

Picture anybody growing up so stupid he didn't know that hope is just another phase you'll grow out of.