Similarities of translucent thoughts equal brain dumps, not to be confused with "The Great Dump" which sanctified my ever lasting confusion and mental insanity which brings forth the ink of my veins.  When blue turns to red you will know all my thoughts and that they have been oxidized and ready for examination under a microscope.  But until the ink turns, sit down and shut up, unless I have given you the right to read the greatest masterpieces ever created without a chisel.  With every stroke of my pen, I chisel my heart open and maybe one day I will love someone other than the endless faces of nights shadow.  We wait and we sit, we sit and we wait, but until the big hand hits ten we are just SOL, with a penny to spare.  Some will travel, but I do not care, for I have an endless audience gathered in my mind only to be entertained by the thoughts they provide.  Now they provide a break for I must go urinate, and the hand is about to strike ten, but the ink is not red yet.