Oftentimes, in a roundabout and drunken sort of retrospect, I wonder why that while I seem to possess the talent to find a way out of this rat race, this banal and purile maze, this sad and sullen malaise which entraps so many to the end of their days I persist in the choices which keep me caged and doom me to such self defeating ways.

A lazy gun would call it fate. So many thoughts that had it right now in the light of this empty white betrayed. Truth revealed without a voice yet when I sit down to write it out my mind plays coy.

I'd say it doesn't matter, and in a way that's not a lie. Yet once again time and Adeline have stolen what was mine.

Another round then. Why even try? Philosophers move their imaginary mountains and children fly kites, reality buries both beneath its silent might.

Hate it, love it, live it, don't you? Brothers and sisters in chains the lot of us, and everyone a fool.