9/2/00

To the cold void I send this from hot isolation. E'en in crowd I am alone...yet in solitude I am crowded. In my silence I bare my flesh to the hot press of images battering against me. Not knowing what I am supposed to do with anything...move inexorably to fate I fear to realise.

To know me is to be mistaken because one can never know me...how when I can not know myself. In my fevered dreams I toss theories and philosophies about. I should toss them to the four winds. I should just be. But how can I be when I am not a being.

My ode to fever induced paranoia.

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