[insert mad max: fury road / brothers in arms theme] strangely one of the few places where I was honest to myself where I acknowledged my wounds and joys in indirect or metaphorical way, yet this idea that I had is it still real? or did it become contaminated and soured? as I myself did is it just the endless hamster run? or does it lead somewhere? if the journey is the point am I worse or better off than I started? I can't even tell but... I can't stop what is there to stop to? only wasteland
[insert dull chronic pain, neglected cry and maybe hopeful resonance]
















