2002-10-14 - 10:11 p.m.

Milling in an hour, wrapping it around this toothpick. Elongating time with thoughts, thoughts create time, you know. Mesmerized by busyness.

Brown skies cast against the lake, rippling with a breeze.

Each word is being pushed out, forcedly.

Right now, there isn't a sound and there isn't silence.

Soft upon my skin, the cold air tastes the surface of my flesh.

Yossarian Yossarian

Write an entry to pianosa's diary of non-sense and possible madness.