My heart is beating at an abormally fast pace. I've been put on xanax and told to get off caffeine. I miss a lot of people who aren't here in Sg. Norman Mailer is dead.

I have lost consciousness of time. Hours have elapsed into days. My admiration is turning into an obsession. I can't seem to write anymore. The prose which I started in June is unfinished, turning yellow with the corners turning and probably will remain that way till the end. My poetry is no better. My poetry book has more empty pages then filled ones. I have lost inspiration. I seek refuge under my covers. I feel so safe and comforted in a familiar surrounding. I wanna attach a harness to my bed and then attach that harness to myself when I step out. Security. My security. As of recent, I detest visiting people and striking up any conversation. It irks me the way they feign interest in my opinion on anything. The upshot eyebrows, the forced smiles, the quizzical look at my conceptions. Therefore, I let the parents mingle while I sit by myself and observe. Observe their movements. Their expressions. Pick out the weak ones. Seperate the ones who feel superior. It's a little game I play without interference of any sort. Interference. I have felt the brunt of it over the years. I do not need it. Solitude appears to be the forthcoming haven.

You have to be sane to reach a state of insanity.
You have to be insane to be declared sane and well again.