I was born at 9:38 pm on a day that could've resembled today, but, I don't really know. It's chilly this evening, and I'm hungry. I'm not feeling particularly well. I just feel like collapsing into a sleep. I wonder how I felt my first night fresh out of the womb. I wonder if I wanted to crawl back in. All I could do is cry. Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep from crying. So much has changed in 10.950 days, yet, my emotions are much the same. So, I haven't really changed much at all. I'm still human. I still feel helpless sometimes. I long for someone to hold me. Sometimes I don't know what to make of this world. I don't remember anything from when I was a baby. I really have no recollections until I became like four or five. Dressing up for Halloween as Mighty Mouse running down the street. Now I just want to run down the street and never come back. I wish I still had that costume so I could at least pretend to be Mighty once more. I grew up and became a man. A lost man, who has no womb to climb back into. I'm getting older. I'm trying to grow. But, it's chilly this evening, and there are no lit candles.
Can you ride the lightning if it's faded to black? If it's black, how do you know where to look? It all seems so fast, because it is. The light, the life, the lie. Lightning in a bottle, but it is broken. Our beautiful instruments so closed in. The solar eclipse is here, but we cannot see it, for our souls have been eclipsed by the master of puppets pulling our strings. Twisting our minds. Smashing our dreams. We are the unforgiven, for whom the bell tolls. Ktulu is calling. The skies falling. Orion reaches out, nothing bright, only mourning. Darkness in our constellations. Pious indignation. And this is the ride. An inhabitant's will to live. Our inner sanitariums, no moral calibrations. Drift in the blackness, with the sandman. The purgatory of a man's soul, with a nation to follow. Where nothing else matters. There is no more lightning to ride.