Finding the Function of Pi

Eye of the storm. Drama of onyx has me stand back. Fear drips around even short complimentary quips. I feel like my hand is nothing that will ever win or be a force to be reconned with. All the theys see my every minute of every day. Violation isn't even the beginning of what the storm front is read as on tv. People mix and mingle in vicnity, and I must silently work to solve invisible theories of cognitive resonance. My intellect is saying a big fuck you to the generations of panhandlers around me. All the satanism wanting more more more. The less I have for the fatigue bucket. I go to scream and I must muffle with a steel pillow. No one will stop their consumption, I am recycled again and again for all nation states. Death is not an opportunity, it only leads to blindness and loss. I will maintain, but today I wish to cry out a rage flash lighting the night sky with grief. Again we have monday and an opportunity for all to say stay away.