Depression won't hurry up, such a Judge before me. Only God can stop my reality, or it's going to kill me... I'm probably in the last r.e.m sleep of a long cacoon stage, it storms so loud it blew out the stage, the wall and every other chinese-produced good-- every cross is made of wood, but how many are drenched in blood? My eyes are open and all I can see is the nothingness before me