one rarely ventures here. mind you i don't mind the lack of comments it reflects the serenity of sitting in my kitchen a grass-alabaster-wood cell inmates make grog and tea and the women do come and go poetically dreaming about a true michelangelo the actual archangel wrapped in a non existent glittering spasm of rights and perfections while all the while it just me living in my carbon based ambient light shot little life loneliness permeates everything the walls sweat a thin shiny sheen of moisture exertion to limit solitude will it be a hundred years of will something inside give this race another chance on earth i deserve it but i have yet to find it so many chances have rolled down the hill the snow is heavier by the year the balls roll quicker grow heavier the trees wilt away rumbling hillside quaking creatures in the forest freedom has reared its ugly-ugly head having let go of the last vine i knew well enough to trust there is nothing but me and an extremely long rough rambling road a narrow murky path that leads me to me