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Sometimes the words take hold, and sometimes I am empty. It is a hard world inside my heart, and I have managed to make room for very few. Is it a favor? My mind achieves greater balance as time wears on. My heart is closed. All else will be as it will be. We are coming to the end of the days of the human race; in a way, I am grateful that I will be here to witness the collapse.

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I have found, in my time, that I write best when I am writing what defines me. To you it may look meaningless, but for me, these cryptic words create a path to follow in later years, to remember who I have been. It is only when I am writing that I wish to remember; other times I would forget the past. I have gone down into the depths of what I can be, and found it was not so bad. Noone could see the difference... Only my eyes burned with the same of being.

I fight an ongoing battle with myself. I read Zen koans and French children's books to make this battle easier. In the end, it feels so anticlimactic. I make a choice by making no choice. Nothing is as simple as it seems. Except oatmeal.