i went into my best friend's basement the other night. she said she couldn't get through to me in the condition i'm in. So this weekend i spoke with Boteccelli's ghost and ate cloves by the dozen.

her basement was empty of all the preconcieved notions in life. I now have memories of the last four nights locked in a pocket full of doubt. for the record i used to own a rooster, two rabbits, two iguanas, and a mule.

now, in this foxhole of ideals getting pissed and illuminating illusions. I am rearranging my soul. I only speak candidly in basements and belfries.