I can't bear the silent ringing in my skull.

Some people have things written all over their faces; the big guy had a couple of words misspelled in crayon on his.

I met someone who lives in an elevator.

My inner chemistry had been hijacked by a mad scientist, who poured the fizzy, volatile contents of my heart from a test tube marked SOBER REALITY into another labeled SUNNY DELUSION, and back again, faster and faster, until the floor of my life was slick with spillage.

I don't have a lot of paper in my immediate work environment, except when I'm doing things like checking the godforsaken proofs.

All paths lead nowhere; choose one with heart...

...Don't rupture another's illusion unless you're positive the alternative you offer is more worthwhile than that from which you're wrenching them. Interrogate your solipsism: Does it offer any better a home than the delusions you're reaching to shatter?