I feel required to warn anyone before they read this that it was written after being under a lot of stress. It's a tad cynical and only vaguely coherent. I skip around a lot, but, you might find the ideas, though undeveloped, interesting.

It's wierd being free again - even if it is only for a week - one week - 168 hours - seven days - enough time to think all the thoughts they stole from me for eight long months - enough time to remember that I am a person before I go back to that shell they call a ?human? - the worker - the student - the thing trained to follow directions and do busy work in the name of self improvement - at the cost of ignorance in matters that really matter - at the cost of naivety in life - in the world - something that doesn't even exist for eight months out of the year - only exists the other four due to an occurence of radio announcements heard through open car windows and the prevalence of friendly people - not that there's really anything to say or to hear that didn't follow the pattern of the day before - that isn't spoken 365 days a year in a multitude of colorful adjectives and noun phrases - perfect English for a perfect world - a perfect little dot in a perfect little universe on the top of a perfect theoretical landscape - like Ireland or the Atlantic - rolling hills an deep blue waves - the respite for reality - the anchor for society - a fresh cesspool for the brave to lead us out of - into the desert - into the night - into flat landscapes with colorless gods and day old re-runs - or that's how it would seem - depth is hard to find in the dark and landscapes lit by stars stare blind across the eyes - but re-runs are only funny when you know what's going to happen to the schizophrenic's twin sister's boyfriend after the party - and we all know that humor is found in hindsight and in nights sitting around the bar - that the moment lacks the sense of laughter it deserves - a lousy comedian time is - we all get the joke a minute too late - by then it's out of our grasp out of our hands - our mouths - our heads - and we've moved on - a minute too late - a story to tell at dinner and laugh at over French cuisine in New York or homemade cooking at Bob Evans - pass the salt and pass the sugar - please and thank you in the little restaurant just like home - the place where we long to leave and pay to go to - guess life is just easier to forget in a place that claims to be 'not quite the real thing' - nobody wants the truth anymore than they want lies - a predicament of sorts - a land of unarticulated thoughts, half formed comments, and unfounded opinions - indecisiveness and neutrality - the new world order - nothing as a way of life - a staple between truth and untruth - the only stability left - is it truly a lie or a lying truth? - or have we finally found the difference between the truth and beauty Dickinson and Keats believed so firmly were one - perhaps they didn't understand the beautiful lie and the ugly truth - the beautiful truth and the ugly lie have been outdated and downsized to the point where we're all working for the other side - and the devil smiles - and the angels wail - and the hero stands in the rain waiting for a challenge to come - but Superman can't walk anymore and we all know it - the line between truth and untruth fades away - chalk in a rainstorm - cartoons and reality - Acme's black hole never looked so good and the coyote is starting to win ...