I realized either I was crazy or the world was crazy; and I picked on the world. And of course I was right.

But, outside of being a sweet little girl, she was awfully dumb and capable of doing horrible things.

The unspeakable visions of the individual.

My witness is the empty sky.

Our radio plays rhythm and blues as we pass the joint back and forth in jutjawed silence both looking ahead with big private thoughts now so vast we can't communicate them anymore and if we tried it would take a million years and a billion books - Too late, too late, the history of everything we've seen together and separately has become a library in itself - The shelves pile higher - They're full of misty documents or documents of the Mist-.

I'd rather hop freights around the country and cook my food out of tin cans over wood fires, than be rich and have a home or work.

But they need to worry and betray time with urgencies false and otherwise, purely anxious and whiny, their souls really won't be at peace unless they can latch to an established and proven worry and having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit and go with it, which is, you see, unhappiness, and all the time it all flies by them and they know it and that too worries them no end.