i think i really woke up this morning to the slamming sound of garbage trucks' backdoors and afterwards, what i thought was screaming. and now i'm thinking, not working, and why am i trying to forget everything that has ever happened and just look forward? all my life i thought i was the chosen one because i walked down streets seeing what i saw and it seemed so obvious that my view was the only relevant one or even the only one extant. because no one else can see out of my eyes. my greediest life. it was a very visual thing and a few minutes ago i saw myself from outside. what does it mean to engage in war? when we none of us have anything to prove. to exact justice or to uphold some basic respect for human life? there are grassy hills where you can lie in the summer with your eyes hemingway red against the sun. and then i try to put all this happiness into my voice but i think how i sound is the giveaway these days. i hear what other people love and then i wilt a little. what i love i play again and again. when i am some certain amount of perfect...