Magic Penguins

So, I've decided that I should create an insanity club. Perhaps akin to the Benevolent Mad People of our most gracious Captain. Of course, now things are much different. For one, stress is a part of life, like breathing. Or peanut butter. Stress is like peanut butter...
My roommates do not understand me. Simply put, they don't. They try. They do really try. But they don't understand my need to be crazy and "random" as they put it. There's nothing wrong with the way I am. I don't hurt anyone or wish them harm. I'm just different, I try to be, and it's not a bad thing. I just annoy them, I guess. So I'm taking this next couple of minutes to balistically type in the library, thus making as much noise as one can in an acceptable fashion.
So, on the subject of magic penguins, one has entered my life and reaped some havok, in fact. This particular magic penguin came into the room and stole all of the vending machines. Yes, and because of the lack of vending machines, I cried. Yea! I wept with tears of joy for my over-caffeinated existance was finally coming to an end as the great mountain dew spread upon my brow and itched.
Until of course, you realize exactly what I'm saying. Realize. Real eyes. Realize. Real lies. Real eyes realize real lies. Alright.
The benevolent madness hath permeated my existance for some time now. Per meat. Ed.
He came into my life, I welcomed him right in, not knowing what he'd be to me or the things he'd bring with him. I think that this problem is easily remedied.
No.

Fair is foul, foul is fair. I feel that because of my underlying foulness somehow I must have done something right along the way. After all, there is now a magic penguin in my life. I wonder about him though. He seems to be an aloof magic penguin these days.

How is it that I care so much about this person? This person I don't know. This person who is so different from me? It isn't sane. But what about my life is sane? What about my life has ever been sane? Partially I think he realizes how insane this is. But partially I think that if I disappeared from the face of the earth no one, no, not even he would notice. And that is a dangerous thought for me to be thinking this year, for, with all the ice in the sky, with all the glass on the trees, the world is full of edges. And, edges become chasms and chasms are things that will allow me to fall through. Sinisterly, I must go out into the darkness of midday and sing merry songs of hope, even though my present demeanor is strung so thin. Almost as thin as the strings of lights on the trees.

Fair is foul
foul is fair.
Hover through fog and filthy air.