time goes by, hours, seconds, days, years, and before i know it, before it knows me, the past is history. 3 years, 3 years, a long time ago, a galaxy far far away, and nothing, from so much to so little, so removed, yet so much a part, so well defined, so much a memory, and yet, it's gone, over and done with. weird to say that. but another topic, another method, another madness, to stop nature, to stop what is instinct, pure reaction pure nerve impulses, to quell and control and modify and suppress, to blanket and smother, and otherwise contain raw uncut emotion, to change natural tendencies and habits, to move out of a rut, but what if it isn't a rut, not a track, not necessarily a problem that is defined by the road, but by the wheel itself, then no matter the road, no matter how soft, how green the grass might be, how smooth and clean the cement might be, how clear and calm the ocean might be, maybe it's not that, but the method of transportation itself, and changing that means changing the car, the wheel, the boat, whatever. scary to close your eyes like that.