I see in front of me a computer screen and a keyboard

I am lost seeing all my literature circulate in front of me, from Jane Austen to John Cheever, from Gibbon on the Roman Empire to the Bible.  I am drunk on caramel flavored whiskey.

Is there a compassionate word?  In and out God determines ways which are alien to me.  See yourself here as a questioner of words and ideas without limit except that of death.  Am I upside down to my brother Dean?  Am I a bother or is there a path without abuse of the privileges I found when I was younger?

I am four times without words in a film by David France about   "The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson.'  Wait, I want to show this to my brother.