i'm tired, and this newly fo(u)nd feeling of god hood is sad somehow. i liked being someone's apostle. bukowski freed us from this i guess. i love him. my life will be about my life, and my neighbors life, and i can't really explain this. i am okay that you can understand much of what i say to you but not what it is like to be here. if i could you already would have understood, i'm sad. i wanted to keep caring what you all thought, but it has taken everything from me. i am allowed to be as SAD AS I FUCKING WANT, FUCK OFF. i guess that's the truth.