I have something on the tip of my tongue but I can't say it; I'm feeling strangely conflicted inside because that's just the way it is, today. Today is just one of those hallucinogenic days; time is standing on its head and just to the left of the screen so that it's sort of left the picture; everything else does strange cartwheels and sticks out its collective tongue at me - these are the days of hellfire and brimstone, lovingly shrinkwrapped into handy takeaway packages.

I have an epic on the tip of my fingers but it won't come out; constipated words trickle off the keyboard into this electronic void - I'm sure I'll hate all of them after this, but for now, it just feels so good, like you're on the toilet bowl with your pants down farting; it isn't the real shit, but at least you're working towards it. But at the same time, I'm clenching my buttcheeks, because when this monster shit comes out, it will be a stench unlike any the world has ever known, and that really cute girl is standing outside, waiting for the bathroom. This is a sticky situation. Hello, welcome to life.

I have opinions forming at the tip of my head but they're still-born; truth be told, I don't have many opinions about anything, but there you go. It's not that I'm apathetic, that's just the easy way out of it - what is the truth, though? I think that's beyond my comprehension, or rather, beyond what I want to get into right now - I don't want to get into anything, and yet I do - I want you to know what I'm saying without me saying it, but you don't, do you? If I can't get into my own head, you probably can't get in either. Don't say you can; I hate being obvious - it's only a short step away from vulgar.

I have dropped enough hints for one night - is your picture any clearer?