Today I learned that, like any other business, LUPD must make money. Hence, just as "the natural fruit of a pear tree is pears" and "the natural fruit of an apple tree is apples," so the natural function of a guard is to produce money. In a sense, I have been called to be a salesman -- and my customers are the forgetful, the ignorant, and the ornery.

I guess I should tighten up a bit....

I feel like there's something within me that can be expressed, but only for moments at a time, and only by people more talented than me. I want the quick fury and thrashing momentum and fullness of sound and dramatic sights and the feeling of absence from self and constant change and confusion and fear or love -- such that longing is forgotten -- forever. I can't write this without being curious. Lately I can't think straight without a kind face in front of me, and that same kindness makes me uncomfortable enough to leave it. I want to ask someone "Is something wrong" and to meet "You're damn right there is. 20km from here the war machine encroaches, and the armies of God have already decided what to do about our confusion." I want to sit silently and measure over and over the distance between myself and the light.

I've decided that this odd manifestation of depression is a product of stress, and that it will fade when the pendulum stops at it's peak.

"I may have been born yesterday, sir, but I stayed up all night."