My brain flees me again, bored at song writing or life in general, I presume, doing its own thing, chemicals firing in to the trash dumps of my mind, where figurative maggots consume them and then defecate the rest to float in nothingness. It leaves me staring at the screen like an imbecile mouth hanging open, a photo if captured,  would probably be a good example of how future generations are turning into zombies that only feed on electronics, reality in small pieces, surf the internets sandy beaches while I lay comatose in bed, mid section inflating like a rogue helium pump pushing air into a balloon, looking good there fatsO.

While scouring the ever expanding web, I wonder why Nasa would ask for volunteers  to lay in a bed for 2 months, to see how the human body would react to a lack of movement, they should just find a World of Warcraft enthusiast and ask how the last two months of his life felt or changed, or just move a screen above the bed while he lays back, the click of the mouse the only sound in the hollow room, infinite supply of doritos to the vein. Check in every few weeks or so, if he’s suffered a heart attack, fingers still clicking after death, my way would save tax dollars. Now for a fit person or a social fly, who seems to always land in your vicinity, annoyingly difficult to whisk away it would be hell for them. I believe this is a task for the ones shaped in dark rooms, the package noodle marauders, the ones if sent back to a crueler time where nature ruled ruthless in its scorn, they would perish first, grub for mother earth.