its quarter to 2. what do i care. i have classe in 6 hours. i have a paper to type. on what you ask. i say nothing but primary billiary cirrhosis of course. and you reply of course. that shouldn't take long you say as you stir your coffee. i say that it shouldn't, but i've gone overboard again. again you say. again i say. how far have you gone you ask as if overboard doesn't describe it enough. enough that i can no longer swim i say taking a long slow pull from my hip flask. you should stop that you say. and i say who are you to judge your smoking will kill us both. is not that you are mad about you say. i know i say its something more. what is it then you say as rain strikes your face. hemingway i reply. hemingway you inquire. hemingway indeed i state. how can he be the matter you ask hes been dead for some time. not the person i say the writing i mean. the writing you say. you aren't surprised i ask. no why should i be you state his writing is maddening.

where has everyone gone?

i'm in IC still. post MCAT post lab post caring. is there anything more pathetic than a self loathing med student? i think that there probably is but that species has long since yet to be found. i know that i should be studying or at least printing out the paper i should be reading. it can wait for my head to stop wanting to cecede from by body. and now i can't even spell. nothing exciting here. move on people...the train wreck hasn't happened yet.

coffee a go go

many heinous musings posted each one more terrible than the last. idle hands idle ramblings and the mounting pressure to perform. performance hindered. hands bound. how to make the idle undone. riding along in a nothing state with nowhere plans. must perform. must. it is imperative that you get in get on get moving. try not to seek as to be seen. unseen. still no luck. will my stock improve if i release the quarterly report? has this all been in vain. coffee now. to counter the sleep. the sleep that needs to come. the sleep that i can no longer have. does this make me a writer. can i be something more. can i do something else. what else do i have if i have nothing at all.

the end of an end..

the end of an end leads to more ends. but will it end. i can't say right now. too many people here to listen even though i'm the only body in the room. don't let the others hear here. they will find out soon enough. how can i hope to achieve what i seek when what i seek is unknown. i seek good questions. questions with thousands of answers and each more probable than the next. this will lead us to the new absurdity. in absurdity one can find hope. a chance. a rebirth. a fine line here we dance upon. hard not to decend in the crazy. its warm there. comfy. reality is cold. but that is cliche. lets remake reality. where there was once truth let us make probability. make the real unreal and the like. the like. what can that be. something similar i imagine. more of the same when you already have enough. enough i say. stop looking at me like that why are you looking at me like that what have i said now that i deserve this stare. conversations are pointless and the truth they contain is obscured by pink floyd. dancing close to crazy here benjamin. samba your way back to the beginning. if i do that then i'm clearly coming to an end.

its that time of year for the time of your (insert profound here)

i'm tired of the talk. tired of the idle conversations that surround me. tired. so tired. weary even. i don't know what i want all i know is that i don't want to talk to anyone. been a week since i've really seen the roomates. they live above me you know. i'm in my hole. i like it there. looking to block out the light soon. soon a cave. is that metaphorical for my state? probably. ask me if i care. you'll get no response and if you are lucky maybe a blank stare. let's start a fire. a real one an imaginative one. if i push a button my fireplace comes on. pretty easy to start fire. probably would make a caveman explode. better not start a fire. caveman is impossible to get out of the carpet.

waxing poetic

waxing the poetic. man that has to hurt. course its been a long time since and a good time for it too. good weather. need to be done outside for it to be done proper. right the wrongs and left the rights. ride the ride and fight the good fight. eat the chicken and choke on the bone. lost the game and hang up the phone. never gone but never found. try to find them but never around. look in the scope to find that which is lost. looking through the window covered in frost. too contrived? i think.

long time no see....

"long time no see!", you say sitting in the booth across the way. i holler back across the place and say, "of course, you've been blind since you were three and now you are 73." "i still have vision", you retort. we do this everytime we are in the same room. its getting quite old. but who am i to say what is old. your conversation still keeps me on my toes. even though we talked about everything i've ever been told. vive la revolution.