wanother

oh hooray another drunkan blog do the little people say who live in the other world, the bottom half who dream about these words but do not get to read them. a house fly is dying on my keys as i type, he is dying so quickly that he does not move very quickly as i move toward the f, the h, the l, the ;. he has given up the fight. imagine a time when a house fly is more noble than any common american, and yes we are amoung them.

i am thinking about him. about how i think that he can not not be alive in me. (i almost stamped out the fly by hitting the "E") anything in me that beats and wails proclaims that he is alive, maybe even more alive than me. everything in me tells me he is alive. but i know that he is not. so i know that i must lie to myself. can anyone give me another conclusion?