I beat a migraine today, and I'm very hopeful this isn't remission, so even though the effort exhausted me, I figured I'd write. But that doesn't seem to be happening either without the pain behind my eyes emerging again as I try to find the words to describe it. I'm going to go to bed now. Times like this I can understand why Wilson followed Leary, why some cultures hold onto their brutal rituals of rebirth, and why the civilizations of the world are unravelling. Reality is a bitch. Learning who we are is the death of what we know. We have to eat our gods.

Sleep.