Seven and the Skeletal Fish We Pudding-ify

Got their wires
another way
its on the first page of the a to zed
and is
so easy to
lose your way
but you can find it on the motorway
and take
a wrong turn
but thats ok,
start again another day

Being on a bender (bite my shiny pseudo-scottish ass) is brilliant when it actually punctuates everything in life and acheives precisely what you set out upon such a task for. Namely, boredom, or the release from said boredom. However, my bender is just pointless because I am still bored and I've spent out of the last 72 hours awake maybe only 8 of them sober. Not bad if I do say so.
I keep hearing The Pop Song and My Father My King whenever I tilt my head to the right or left respectively. I fancy the predicament to a muse, sitting quietly in my brain until something shakes her off her tight little ass to which she strikes up all the chords that are sucked down into my flesh, deep toned and high strung, all knotted, contorted, and visually vile when painted on snow. I was never pure enough for white of any sort, thankfully. I in fact enjoy the darkness of a room at night with only moonswept shadows and dusty tables adorning it, I have been that peculiar for many years once I was able to get over my initial fear of the dark, fear of the unknown, fear of death. But it strikes me that there are too many people to count who still have these, who when entering a room I have been comfortable in, lights off with only streetlamp or early morning wading past curtains or shades, and continually ask how I could possibly like being in such a dim environment. As if there were something to fear from the room just then, that having the lights out made it completely unsafe or antiquated or a toll to death further down the road. Is reflection of ones own mind so bad, so cataclysmic to their existence that they rather run than even sneak a small glance at what is really behind their callow countenances? A pity.
Peanut butter is the glue of life, just a protein paste, a familiar example of simplicity, and a knife-full can last me from anywhere between .002 seconds to an hour and a half all depending on the immediate peanut butter index, or the IPBI. This you can calculate using a simple equation that involves no fewer than five differential equations and such random variables as toenail length. But its peanut butter, so eat it.
I think the next time someone asks why I am sitting in a dark room I merely remark, "is the room dark, or is it that you have not yet seen the light?" for I have seen the peanut buttery goodness and snuck a few fingers for taste and good measure, I am no wiser than the greatest fool but I have at least known what simplicity can be if done with no more regard to the "big issues" than a child gives to politics.

How many times undone can one person be as they're careening through the facade of their favorite fantasy?

Cheers chewable kittens.