analysis. call it analysis if you will….

it started on a friday, in scorching august. this day had to of been planned for. sleep, clearly not a friend of mine. on this day, like most others, it consumed me. and as usual, even the beauty of it was frightening. im done asking is time even means anything. i suppose i choose not to know, but its hard to deny a feeling. feeling might even be the only thing left to believe in.  i could feel what was coming. i could have told anyone it wasnt good, and what good would that do? you could say this part was rather new to me. consumption becoming direction. it’ll make you give up or go on and nothing in between. to proceed:::: its probably more simple to say we gathered, aimlessly gathered. tell me theres something else to do around here and i will surely do it, as i assume we all would. as for now this might as well be good enough, but it rather not be known by the height of its danger.