Jesus Christ, Marvin

“Well, I have this overwhelming sense that time is running out. It hangs there over me, this...this fucking haze of malformed static, buzzing and fuming and chattering, bearing down on every breath that leaves me, until it eventually and utterly engulfs everything; it engulfs everything and I realize that I forgot to breathe and I spew out this stale, dirty air. It’s a slow burning panic. It drips and corrodes, caustic against every sense of security, every confidence or calmness I have left - a vice that will twist and turn and squeeze until it has somehow, impossibly, binded infinite time into a pinch of passing, forgettable moments that, for some undiscoverable reason, I’m desperately trying and miserably failing to keep from slipping through my fingertips. It destroys, but it builds; it is the infallible source for everything I do and everything I need, the seminal model of success and unwavering dedication to an unknown, predestined cause, a model which I obediently conform to without voiced question or uncertainty. It is the reason why I get up in the morning, the reason why I continue to blink and breathe and eat and move my mouth to make these arcane sounds, and the reason why I know the number of times my heart has beat in the past 6 days. It is the reason. It is relentlessly effective and it will ruin me, just as it will ruin you.”

“Jesus Christ, Marvin. I just asked how you were doing.”