As I sit in my unemployed stupor, ponderance is my greatest enemy. There are no words that cross my mind that are not of immediate and lethal threat. In fact, the very act of crossing a mind is a declaration of war; against the senses, against logic, against emotion, against intuition, against thought itself! The mind that would allow such things is suicidal. It is in eternal civil war. The pitiable being that is attached to such a mind should be both watched carefully and placated to maintain peace. This, I fear, is why I am under constant surveillance. The fools think I don't recognize the synchronicity between the terms "bugs" and "fleas". I merely wish they had chosen spies that are not so bloody bothersome. But I've no doubt that that's the point. They're no longer content to simply sit back and watch me spiral in to insanity. They want to be the ones to finally push me over that edge, but I've got news for them. No such thing shall come to pass; not because of my solid will, not because of my unshakable sanity (as stable as it may be), and not because of my having pushed myself over that edge many a year ago (as indeed I have and shall again), but because sanity is not like unto a cliff any more than it is like unto a sociological paradigm. Nay, sanity is like unto a hill in some surreal and rainbow-gothic golf course where, though I am pelted by a thousand miniature epcots, my pace is followed at equal speed by the very senders of such tasteless advertisements directly in to the sand trap in which all whom are present deserve to be and where I have my first taste of hash, standing opposite the beast, with a shotgun in one hand and a cell phone in the other.