when once i said catch for us the foxes i meant it as a personal endeavor, but not for a collectivized self, a solitary one. yet, so noble am i, the judas, the second son. what was it? all the foreign substances? yes that was what did me in was it? no man! think! it was this paradox, to remain in the light you had to shut everything off, for it all perverts you the moment it touches your skin. yet afterall like a fool you still fell. i couldnt take the solitary confinement dammit! and so i am like a child in a bull ring. or maybe i am the angry bull. the foxes have raped my vineyards of any hares or small happy creatures. the creative edge perhaps lain to rest. well exactly not. it was the other self newton briggs. he was the one pushing me to it all. i stopped listening. we thought it was this great idea to write. for what purpose you ask...i never knew, we just did it. it was supposed to be for everyone so you could write a book or something. you know all that damned work. there is got to be a way out. "the future is coming. can you hear it?" he would say. "yes, it sounds like hell" i would reply. "no no, thats just the idiots next door fraternizing with fate" newt said. "exactly, dear friend, exactly" i would reply. and we had a good laugh. how i miss him sometimes. i dont write him often enough any more. we had ideas for two or three great works of literature. but now we are all so busy busy busy with the life we tired to run from. it was because we both feard of going mad. i wanted to love someone in this world, maybe the next. i wasnt every too sure. i tried any way. so i just need to find someone at the nexus of sanctity and depravity. one who walks lines and pushes for the better. so catch most of the foxes in the vineyard.