Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good. W. H. Auden

This was the best thing that I've written today.

That sentence that you just read above.

I would doubt that it was the best sentence that you've read today.

I don't know. I don't know anythjing about your day. I don't know what was good and what was bad, what worked and what didn't maybe just possiblt that what little that I did maybe helpe a little bit even if it was nothing because...remeber...I havent really written anything yet.

I havent gotten aropund to telling you about glacier-like progression of my depresseion and the regression of I dont even know what to say

I know that its hard to get out of bed but that its hard to keep my heart inside of my body because it needs more blodd pumping through it. My heart needs more hearts too. Ive proven that its a loving thing but it also wants to eat your hearts brains

you, know – I can talk about work and how it's killing me slowly and that maybe my work is like cancer but then when I start typing that I feel like a horrible human being when I have opeople that I know that have dided of cance and a friend even now going through chemo. So im a dick. A worthless, uncaring, selfidsh dick. So. I don't know what to write about. I know that my body is slowly failing me and that I drink too much and smoke too much and that I was very proud of myself for quitting both of thoase things recently. But then, I got treated to dinner at a fancy restaurant and really didnt give a fuck. Anf thats my problem. I care too much but dont gve a fuck. But im getting old now. I give a fuck. I really do.

I dfont know whats going to happen to me and I dont know where im going to end up but im scared about being here, doing the same things. Making the same relationship mistakes and just being here birng here bieng here. It hasnt worked before and its not going to continue to not work It's just going to stop. STOP.

Anf that'll be it. I've almost died before. TWICE. That sucked. And I was supposed to be stronger after it. I wqas and then I got stupid again. My body and my will is failing. Dwindling, I should say.

What do I want? What do I want to become. Not this. Not sl;owly dying on the vine while drinking it's wine. I'm 40 years old now. I've been writing my whole life. I like it sometimes and sometimes I reqally hate it. What I want is to live the last half of my life and to feel allright about it.

It's time to wake up. Or just slowly die. That's how cut and dried it is. TRUST ME. THRUST ME.

I'm weak, but hopeful. And, now music is playing that was super emo for me back when I was 20. This fucking song...I was so heartbroken, so in love...really....

I hope you're well.

I apologize for ranting, but thank you for reading the rant that you just read.

It was the best thing that ive written today.