If in my garden I am trimming words and sentences.

I sat happily sipping away at my Glenns vodka and lemonade at my desk, as a file finished downloading. I watched people I know sucking cock as part of a living, and Laura Marling sang:
"He went crazy at 19, said he'd lost all his self-esteem, and couldn't understand why he was crying". It was just another incident where the associations appeared all too convenient. I can't say that I judge people for doing it, although, in reality my judgements upon it are probably more than transparent. I feel it is a shame; it leads me back to the point that the actions you make now lay down the foundations for subsequent relations, and the dismissal of other potential relations.

I'm wearing a cloak of prose. That is my action, and fashion. Others prefer to declare their insanity by means of undressing, eating, snorting, abstaining, cutting, working, and an innumerable amount of other actions and non-actions that as a whole, comprise our destruction and salvation.

It was 8am as I sat on Vikee's bed, bearing all. We hadn't slept. I set out the history of my lovers on her bed, and the actions involved. I told my story, my version, my feelings and thoughts. Too often people fall victim to being the slave of gossip, rumour, and the idleness of non-thought. I feel one of the biggest sins of life is to lack individual thought - denying yourself the freedom to unchain yourself from the poison people spew. You are not so ignorant, really, we know when people are lying or exaggerating, but the entertainment is so intense that we lay ourselves down; a meal for the talker, on a deliciously sticky web. There is no single correct version to any story; there is an intolerable ocean of facts, both unsaid and vocalised, living in disarray, crashing into one another.
These waves have crashed.

So now, I stand before tabula rasa. The clean, the unknown, the unhad. We are so 'happened' to at such tender ages, how is it that people can find the strength now to overcome the troubles they hold so dear to them?
I am quite positive that the world has not changed in the thousands of years man has roamed freely and captive. Yes, we now hold more information about the land, sea, and space around us. Our neighbours and relatives and the insides of our heads, but any one person from 2009 could be associated with any one person from 1009. An identical or uncanny resemblance with regards to mannerisms and personality.
We still behave erroneously, and destructively; we are logically illogical. My time may be cut short; the mistakes of poisoning my body, destroying the space I fill, given to me over 21 years ago now. I can't help but feel every person I have known, whirring around my head - I do not forget. I can't help but feel the next 1000 years will yield similar results.

Knowledge may very well be power, but the effects of the world, and living within it, still remain. I'm watching things revolve in an ever so slight way; the truth, slowly revealing its face to me from behind its smoky mask. It is exciting, but what will become of me when I stand face-to-face with the nightmare? The nightmare of knowing all of what you don't want to know. I can hold confidence in a cup, and drink from it, I can sit quietly, and notice, but how am I to speak up in a room filled with white noise exuded from every soul that has, is and will be? We are each a blip; a glitch in existence, we already were - we are not. Ultimately, very few of us exist. We become the abstract at conception. What greater pity can be had than for the living dead?