31. 31 going on who knows at this point. Will I live longer, will I be rich. Will post-apocalyptic times come and I’ll be ass kicking and scrounging for precious water and Nixon bucks? Future assault me now. Does age matter to me anymore or am I preoccupied with fretting and comfortably slipping into the old age that was with me since teens. I was a bitter old man and now I’m complacent? finding my centre with meditation and principle living. Now these birthdays are coming on faster and the years rush on like everyone said. O mortality, thy vainglorious attempts at humility are upon me. Ever are the wounds of time scoring brown flesh like mumbly bumps in the night of the staged opera. Operata nominata sanctus sotos necronomicana. Babble Bible bibliotheque, twisted tongues and babel drivel. Oddness rising, setting sun on autumn years, nix the dementia.