she says i'm paranoid. the inner thought process that is unstable and trouble by excessive anxiety or, as dr.gonzo would call it, the fear. a paranoid android. it's so easy to paste a brand on people, communities, inhabitants these days, is it not? impending danger is something i have a nack for. always look both ways...sign your cheques in a john handcock manner...never get off the boat as stated so eloquently by captain willard as he snaked his way throught the fiery jungle. (plug in the ipod to rid if this internal noise) eleanor rigby lives in a dream. my awakenings have become additionally misty as i age. i use to be clear. i use to be prepared. but no one comes near these days. nothing to be ready for. here lies the lonely assassin. the hired gun. the one who was born to end lives. he eats alone. not because he chooses too. it just doesn't require much effort if impending danger were to rear her ugly head with flags of red paint. he sits in his self made umbrella of belief. tired, but always waiting. running. waiting. a first person narrative parabola.
How did I get into the world? Why was I not asked about it and was I not informed about the rules and regulations and just trhust into the ranks as if I had been bought by a peddling shanghaier of human beings? How did I get involved in this enterprise called actuality? Why should I be involved? Isn't it a matter of choice? And if I am compelled to be involved, where is the manager-I have something to say about this. Is there no manager? To whom shall I make my complaint? - Soren Kierkegaard