Signed. Stamped. Sealed.

Mondays...Mondays. I just had the most non preferable longest week of my life. Not that you, I, or she care. I have been not only disappointing myself, but my peers, my elders, even my own conscience, maybe my existence. Why does this or that even pertain to you? I sure as hell do not know, that is something for you to explain to yourself. I have been parched from surf for possibly twelve days, seventeen hours, nine minutes, and twenty or so seconds. Work thought of, yet not finished. Conversations started, yet left abandoned. I feel on the verge of tears, my eyes start to water, yet no drop has fallen. My meticulous mind tends to lead me down a path neither you or I want to follow. I despair in thoughts of love and hate, joy and agony, chivalry and phobia. And here I am again, thinking and pondering over resolute ideals that I once believed in. This is nonsense, pure babble, fatuity, drivel, and gibberish. Yet the sense I have makes sense in my head. This and these, that and those. The prefabrication of everything(and I mean everything) becomes very old, rather exhausted, and decrepit. Who they think you are, who they think you should be, who they think you want be. But do they know? Halfheartedly I think not, yet somewhere in this skull filled with brain matter I expect that they might have once been golden. And that is all I can, will, ever have tried to be. This is not a manifesto, doctrine, revolution, speech or that of any sort. This is a struggle with ones own mind and matter. Heart and soul. Sanity and insanity. And I beg of thee. This is not only a plea, or a promise, but a covenant. I will not give up. For when the well runs dry, you must fetch water from the river. And this river ever glowing gold in the sunlight will not run dry. For it is eternal and everlasting, full of life and color. I have tried to censor my mind from thoughts, but these thoughts are what make me who I am. I will no longer censor them, but will carefully monitor them, so insanity will not creep in through the cracks. So this is that, and that is this.

Ciao,
M.T. Littlejohn.

"Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut." --Ernest Hemingway