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currency, I'd say the chance of the person actually willing to pull the trigger and kill me is less than
ten percent. Unless the person is crazy, then that number increases sharply. Otherwise, if a person
is actually willing to kill you for an unknown amount of wealth, it might be because they have ice
water in their circulatory system. Veins go towards the heart, arteries go away from the heart.

When observing the actions of Silvio, one might prefer to categorize him as a sociopath, or at least
one on the verge to sociopathy. An antisocial person who is not completely aware of the
sociological normalities of our society.

Instead of beating on a man who you have no evidence against, the correct procedure would be to
obtain information from a certain party, in this case Lynne or I, regarding your assumptions that
your ex-wife might be involved with someone. Instead, a sociopath might just submit to his primal
urges.

The problem with being the person who is placing Silvio in this certain category is that judging
someone, in the grand scheme of things, is pointless. Because we cannot define normal and
abnormal realistically, normality is, just like everything in space is relative to one another, relative
to the judgement of who is judging. Similarities will arise when judging good and evil. A cop has a
clear shot on a known drug lord, but does not have the lawful right to shoot him. The cop knows if
he doesn't take his shot now, the drug lord will simply continue to evade the attempts of a poor
judicial system and ruin the city.

The cop takes the shot and kills the drug lord, but is convicted of murder. This suggests we should
only do right or wrong within the boundaries of the law. Do not ever steal from the rich to give to
the poor.

Our brains subconsciously try to differ things from each other. What is good, what is bad. There is
an idea that will tell you that all matter is one. You are one with the person next to you, as well as
the street you walk down every day. You are one with that bird flying in the sky, as well as the Sun
that burns the back of your neck. But in order to survive, we must be able to define certain things,
and differ them from one another. That is hot, that is cold. This separation is important in every
thing.

Tao pulls up to his parking spot in front of the apartment building. The question never comes. He
never asks me about my composition notebooks. The paper and pen that illustrate a distorted mind.
Instead he asks me about a kid who is bouncing a basketball about a block away. He talks about
how we see the basketball hit the ground first, then we hear it hit the ground second. He loves this
kind of stuff. I'm not sure what you would call it; it's not a mirage or an optical illusion I don't
think. Tao calls it a joke from God.

As Tao and I walk through the front entrance, he says how much better the flowers make the
building seem. We split ways and I return to a home with no light. I sit down on my couch with a
plan to fall asleep, but I never do. Why can't I fully fall asleep. Rhetorical question with no hint of
curiosity implied by the lack of a question mark.

There is something in the back of my mind trying to push its way to the front. How can I fix the