In this dark and dull room I sit, spine contorted, I grow weary of the perpetual feed.
The feed is stimulus, and in this dark and dull room I have nevermore appreciated its lacking until now.
Everyday, everyhour, everysecond: the glow, the beat, the hum, the words. Everyday, everyhour, everysecond it bombards me.
It is now reflexive. I seek it against my higher order will.
Is it normal for the brain to hunger? Hunger for this? I have heard of the mind filling artificial voids with deceit of the senses, but what about the extreme inverse? Constant glows, beats, hums, and words.
It cannot be healthy. I hate it. It drags my mind about like a victim tethered to the fender of a cruel driver. Who the driver is I cannot say. Their face is obscured in the ordinary.
Essentially: I need to starve my brain of the unnecessary. Trim the fat and focus on a grand exercise of the mind.
death is a slow process 