[unthinking]

there are times when it is bad to think. every thought leads back to myself. i try to escape in others, but their faces keep turning into mine with wide, empty eyes. instead of their words i hear the cold empty wind, and my voice--cold and biting too. everything is twisted: friendship to comparison, joy to a harsh measuring stick, rejoicing to sick laughter, anticipation to scheming, sharing to hoarding, fellowship to competition. desperation feeds on itself and grows by leaps and bounds. i try to close my eyes but the vision changes not. dark orange tints the landscape to monochrome, trickling into the crumbling sky.

it is for times such as these that god gave us mindless labor, to forget ourselves in soil and toil and splitting wood. simple all-consuming tasks to distract us from outselves. like starcraft. god made mindless computer games too. being averse to mindless labor and out of wood to split...