"New Years Day and there's Blood on the Banjo..."

I want to type up a grand eulogy of 2011 and a grander campaign rally for 2012, but I think I should go to sleep before 4:30 AM tonight.
It's too hard at the current moment to sift through my newfound fascination with black holes, C.S. Lewis books I haven't even read, contemplation of existence's impossibility, musical obsession, a vague creative urge, and all the nonsense an exterior perspective steals away from what I say.

No matter the amount of conveyed honesty
blah blah blee bloo blee

I'm delirious.
I started typing semi-poetic feelings there,
But I'm starting to grow weary of my indirect pleas toward growing misunderstandings I see in the world around me.
I could be blatant and paint the screen to show we're all being changed into something to be eaten,
But truthfully, the only purpose such a picture would show where I am currently in the context of the present.

It would display my feelings,
But not inspire an ounce of heart to be changed.
When I speak,
That's all I want in the end.
I could ramble on about what I like and why I like it and why the things I like can be things everyone should enjoy due to their escape from relativity, but then I encounter my interior hypocrisy I find my efforts to be mere vanity.

If I frequently forget that I am subject to sentience beyond my daily bread and pumping blood,
How can I enlighten those who have not savored the same feed or suffered deception to bring their defeat?

Maybe my worry has extended to self-neglect.
To be honest everything is a whirlwhind.
I take life day by day and any chance to take a step back and see the grand scheme of things gives me a harrowing sense of failure and failing.
But alas, I am not unredeemed for anything.

I am starting to believe 
I have an assortment of personalities
The more they interact, 
The randomness and indifference begin their attack.

Please, no sympathy.
It's all confusing, but will eventually find some sort of peace and solidarity.

Just keeping it real, like usual.

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