I like food. I like comments. I like comments and food, and funny television. I like cats, but not as much as I like people, and also good food. It's all ordered, one through seventy-two, or perhaps ninety-four. What does the number matter? It's just an arbitrary index, a cipher, a mark on the long pole, a cross on the big x-y graph. It never signifies anything, but it means the world to everyone. It's a convoluted snake crawling across the sky with its newfound legs. Its an enraged gorilla, rubbing its back against the empire state building. It's a 25 year old acid flashback. Actually, it isn't, but it was induced by one. It's a scratch on the bumper of forever. It's coming. Coming down the street. Coming to where you live. It's not taking no for an answer. It's today. Tomorrow. Three days ago, when you stepped on that ant but never found out about it, because who gives a shit about the ants. It's the dawning of a new era. It's one day in a series of similar days, blending into one another because you can't really remember what made them special in the first place. Who knew? Who really?

It's all over the place. Every face on every billboard on every highway calling your name. It resounds through the silence. The one word reverberating through your being. The three words you never meant to say.

It's here. It's now. It's gone. Forever.

It's time to pick up the pieces.

I'm so fucking pretentious.