Such as basics?

I would like to sleep but I do not know where to find such a thing.

I would like to read more of the book I just started, but a 16 inch electronic device manipulates my attention span.

I removed a quarter of my wardrobe from my street parked car at 2am on a Friday morning.

I think dancing would be proper being that my music library has been playing for 12 hours, roughly.

However, my freshly laundered yoga pants are ill - fitting due to late night feeds and irrelevant inactivity.

Inebriety

I saw god in the 12 pack.

I remember, let's do it again ..

Okay, I often greatly suck at change. Once I am comfortable with something, I know that change will bring upon a radical difference in myself, whether positive or negative and I feel like I lose a piece of myself when that occurs.
However, there are certain situations that call or force change, and without allowing these situations to pass through, I am instead rejecting that piece of self that I wish to not lose, by not even giving it the chance to try and make it in the world that is my mind; not giving myself the chance to grow like a saintly plant in the natural realm, or be stimulated like a machine in the technological realm. I feel these two co-exist, so I will fall into the hopes that change and originality can successfully be one as well.

I step out internally, while hoping that the color I chose for the post titles do not disturb your lovely eyes as much as it does mine.

Scooter

It as if these eyes are being diluted with salt. Visions are blurry, reality is running. What fills the place of the withheld reality are fantastic nightmares. Dark, fanciful elaborated fantasies that are hindering on the edging verge of alternate reality. A place where it is dark, massively open, cold, and involuntarily solitary.

My eyes are burning, but I can still see what was before. I can discriminate the differences between seeing the grainy, dirty salt and seeing the clear blue sky and the consequences that are available from each respective plane. The options are not in abundance, but one and one. Continuity is not possible without the slow sticky process from disbanding from the molasses soaked nightmares.

My eyes are burning and I cannot see. There is now plenty of room to allow my imagination to advocate the waking hallucinations. I am blindly laboring to the whims that desire and need to fill the smallish holes where the salt is not sticking together. There is no consistency out there, but in here there is more than enough. I can always expect the same; the nightmares, the fantasies that have an outlandish undertone. Here I can depend.

In here, there is no outside.

She said this, with pictures of cats on her t-shirt

I am in search of a reason.
The reason.
Reason.
Maybe there is no reason, maybe there aren't any at all.
Fabricating, elaborating? On the detriments of prior instances...
Although, doesn't reason equate to validity?

Faith holds nothing.
No truth.
No stability.
Only probability.
Faith holds seats for accidents and intentional mess and chaos; pain.
I am not in search of any of the above, am I then faithless?

Faith is finicky.