Running

Have I mentioned my love on run-on sentences recently? If I haven't, let me explain. They lend a sort of exasperating quality to the speech, a sort of desperation to just get a single thought out while the uncertainties of the world and the certainty of death and the collision of all sorts of neurons being fired simultaneously start to take over and if you could only get this one thought out then maybe everything would be okay, especially if you were to drop dead right here, without finishing your full thought but at least with this one last thought, please listen to what I have to say there's so little time and so many things get entangled and snared and the drumming starts in the head, a buzzing of anxiety and a ringing of the dinner bell of death, death's meal, your soul, which may never transmigrate at all but simply fester in some infinite creature's belly with pork and beans and start fermenting and oh the smells, and is that your high school science teacher in there with the bad breath and the coffee stained shirt and the glasses that were not the right size, but it was hard to tell if they were too large or too small or if you just wanted to change the size of their head during your brief stay in their classroom, and the stench of the fermenting souls and other rotting fruits inside the belly of this Endless creature's tummy, assuming death even eats your soul, this is not even confirmed even though the amount of time that is thought about death is more prevalent than any thought about science or truth and we still don't know what happens when we die but please let me get this thought out, just this one last thing, please, please, PLEASE!