Notes to Cindy: The Archives

Nay says she should be off one-to-one soon. Oh, God, how I hope it's true! Brian left. He gave me his Myspace: "bryanztheman". Hell. He knows Chelsea... I gave him Autumn's contact information- one can never be too sure. Seth is saying he's bisexual. I'm yet to determine his accuracy. Oh, well. I got to use the keys yesterday. It could have been my escape if I were careless. I'm bored beyond description. The timing is appropiate, yes, as it is bed time, but the whole day has become too predictable- the kind of predictability that never even twitches in falter, or ages in fluctuation. I feel like jail and juvie and Palmetto, before me, in a sense mentioned before called "The Consistancy Syndrom". It has been mentioned before, again, but it has only lied dormant, waiting to reveal itself, when the mind is the most succeptable and vunerable to pure, unconcentrated, insanity. It is the vicar of parasites: Acting through cognition until your untimely demise. Tragic, yes, but unavoidable, and truly incontrovertible. Hell, it's late. I must rest. Until pigs fly south...

 

~ ARIS PINE