Diary of Stuff (Volume I)
2002-09-28 00:03:33 (UTC)

Gad, I am caught in the middle..

Gad, I am caught in the middle betwixt two separately
distinct states, each one like I am this, or I am that.
The future, beholds; possibilities, here and there, call;
My soul is STRONG, I can't fathom its strength, nor can I
conjecture on how this came to be. . . It tells me what to
do, where to move, what to think. It tells me how to
contort my facial muscles as to look astutely aware, or
mildly or intensely interested. . . Excuse me, but WHAT
did you say? Are you saying that you have a PROBLEM with
that? And you would like it very much if I did WHAT? Oh,
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to OFFEND you. . .

I exist, atop a promontory of rock, looking out into a
black ocean. A wind blows, bloated with the water's
moisture, across my face, like a warm breath. A turbulent
ocean heaves, crashing to and fro, scolding me. Ahhhh, the
sky, overhead, but where is it? It is night, and all the
clouds are present, blocking out any light that may have
come from the moon, or the stars. The sea, once again, a
raucous lecture, laying down on me in waves of discordant
sounds, a multitude of voices. I try to pick one out, but
it soon gets lost amid the other voices. "I am me. No, I
am me. Nay, says I, I am me. . ." I wish to summon up one
of the voices, and bring it life, but I don't possess the