i'm not sure why i only want to communicate my thoughts when pain and heartache have overrun my emotions. does not joy bring a person to pick up a pen and record it for historical purposes? why do i have no interest in remembering the happiest times of my life, but when everything falls apart, nothing short of hell itself could rip the pen from my hands.

technology has lost all of its charm to me, so i'm surprised to find myself here right now. i think it's just because i can't sleep. thoughts pour into my head like volumes of incoherent books, drawing me to reach up to the ceiling with my hands as if to say, "i surrender, just let me go."