Whatever it is that I had in Bali, I've lost it now, to my utter dismay. The craving's back, and my soul's gone flown off away from here. I'm never satisfied.
There's that rancid twitch there now. That's new. It's cruel. Like something that takes over when I've given up. And I have, I feel. Somedays more than others. Maybe that's the problem. Giving up. It's a coward's choice to do so. Or a sloth's, or both.
Giving up's for bitches, and I ain't no bitch. Just ask Mark Cole.
