You know, I feel like ideas are flowing out of my mind and anywhere bit paper. It just refuses to make sense, though to be in English. With all the fussing around, how can one think? The music clicks around me and noise converges and merges as if they were always meant for each other. A lot of the time, I just want to sing the most depressing songs. It’s not all bad. I’m just surrounded by suburbia, and in suburbia, nobody cares about anything but their time bombs.

See, in the suburbs, everyone is carrying these time bombs, that when they explode, the walls of protection shielding them from the outside world will come crashing down their paper dreams, crashing down their toy soldiers. So these suburbans keep buying more and more fuse just to buy more time. Tock Tick Tick Maybe someday, I could go scare one.