I had to take a break from writing book notes and enter the world of willing and convincing quasi-hallucination before the pent-up dreams that pile high during the cognitave state associated with wakefullness burst fully into my consciousness and dragged me into Morpheus's realm against my will, thus preventing the completion of said notes and highly disrespecting my aunt, who needs the room I'm currently utilizing that she may sleep contentedly, rather than upon the couch which offers such dichotomous repose as to prevent any real rest from occuring.
That's why I posted a five-line sentence cool
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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
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