its 5:18 am
i tried to draw but failed, my hands are like uncooked lobster claws.
the ceiling fan pushes the air around like a lethargic cop prods
an uncommited stoned hippy. they look at each other and in thier minds
they say to each other, "yeah fuck this conflict lets go to a diner and
get some breakfast."

so thats how it ends, my first journal entry, my last beer, my eyes wide
shut(sorry kubrick and that french guuy who wrote that story).
the virtual fish on my screensaver keep opening and closing their mouths
like im supposed to pour some wierd cyber fish crystals into the top
of my cheesy monitor.

g(for "good")nite for("night") to y for("ya") all for("all of you")