(Addendum: I saw a bumper sticker today: "Remember who you wanted to be.")

This is entry number four hundred, and I'm not sure when I'm coming back.

Maybe never, but number four hundred (400) seems like a nice, round, number, doesn't it?

I read all the messages everyone sends me.

I'm just not very good at responding.

(Don't think I don't care.)

I'm just this really insular person at heart, do you see?

When I'm gone, and when I'm not posting any new entries, (Which will be from now until whenever.) imagine, if you will, that I'm on a great adventure, and I'm searching for magic, because that's what I'm going to be doing.

Shouldn't you be doing that too?

It's important for me to do this, before my heart explodes, my brain atrophies, or I lose my legs in a tragic farming equipment accident.

It's something I better understood back when I was sucking down cigarettes and going places. I was expediting my own doom, and somewhere deep in my psyche, where I understood what I was doing, it motivated me to make things happen.

I want to sit in dusky chess shops;

I want to listen to husky voices;

I want to ride into sunsets and I want to see little sunsets, burning at the ends of cigarettes, and I want everything to be enveloped in their healing smoke.

Raindrops at night on my windshield are going to be alive with the color of streetlights, like kami are burning inside them.

There can't be any drugs, so it's just going to be me and whatever's out there.

My stimulants will be the sun and the sky; and my narcotics will be the moon and the stars.

If I hallucinate anything, it'll be of the road and where it's taking me.

We're all going to make a great, big, symphony.

It's living in and writing your own story, and if it's possible for you to do that, you should.