Wicked depression.  Crippling anxiety.  The running, screaming existential fantods.  And all that before my feet even hit the floor this morning.  This is what this pointless sobriety hath wrought.  Well, no more, dear reader.  No.  This is ridiculous.  My mind unaltered is far too dangerous of a thing to be allowed to just run free for hours, let alone days, at a time.  Bad Things happen.  As with any machine capable of great bursts of speed and danger, brakes are essential.

N.P.: “Au coeur de la nuit” – Die Form