Vendôme

These "about me"'s  could really scream louder if your introduction to me were any bolder I have your number and maybe some other handles well, everything goes how heavy your optimism weighs our intellectual discourse, like swordplay  "it's for the better, my dear" I will give you one more year to disappear  you would be proud of me now  all your past stories beaming at me Winchester, Hampshire, Portsmouth I could have downed these poisons like tea

Infusion Yesterday I dreamed of some Shutter Island-esque scene. I was preparing a big bag of IV fluid, then setting the bag upon a tall shelf. Then I took the infusion set, the butterfly-wing kind I had like when I was young, and inserted into my left wrist's blue veins. Up to this point, I did every action automatically.  Then I felt the kick, but then my vision suffered and I can't find the needle head. No matter how hard I tried to take it out, I can't. I then woke up clawing at my wrist, which cramped for two minutes longer after I am fully conscious. 

I don't think I've experienced true loneliness in my life. Loneliness, to me, is defined as separation from human interactions and a true devotion to being separated from social connections. I here use "devotion" because it is difficult to remove oneself from a heavy onset of social interactions in the modern age.  Sitting alone in an empty house that is neither my own nor staying for a long time, I am preoccupied with the idea that I am alone. But I am not--- I am in Berkeley, situated in one of the nation's crime capitals. Three blocks down I will see a man who is combatting the extremities of living.  I wonder if the majority of my adult life will be accompanied with the concept of being alone. I wonder if there is a day when I accept my fate as an individual, and not an age, a role, an occupation or task, a means to another's ambition. Valueless is the individual now.  The skies are deeper, the minds sharper. I suppose there is no practical use of my colle