To the curiosity of most Edith Clifford made more money after hours than she did working at the carnival.

i welcome the destruction of earth with open arms

as i drove down connors hill... the point in my daily commute when i seem to do my deep thinking... i was devinely overcome by the sence of beauty that will be the end of the world... i was like... i feel it would be something to see... i want to be there in som sence... there is the fear of what it would be to encounter it... to feel it, to die in it. but i think the end of all of this will be the most wonderful thing... the end of the citys, the cars, the lights burning for no one, the dirt covering everything, the garbage, everything that is ugly and unwanted, the holt renfrews, the bmw's, the louie vuton purses, the "pretty girls" in their pretty clothes, everything gone in a blink, and the dust left wondering how it became dust again. the ashes burning bright and red once im gone... floating through the air to my destiny. i want the world to wake up, but it wont, we are hypnotized by it all. the world has stolen our soles, our fires, our loves, are we all passionless? are we all just waiting to die? or am i really missing something? becuase i feel like a potato ... or a peice of bread, only getting worse every day the stench, the decay. i fight the disease amputate the things that are turning green, the things that are already dead and growing something new, something ugly. soon there will be nothing left just a withered heart coverd in green decay, too damaged to salvage, not by anyone, only by something, someone who can make me new, and i wait for the day he takes me out of here... im sick of it... i really am.