Exerpt from an observer's account

...Involved as she had become, having neglected her inner child and the inevitability of all things, she awoke to find that nothing was real. A void of a wakeful state was the verity she couldn't step back from. The dissonant contention of "real" pulled with greater force than the contentment of ignorance, and a step forward would be one over an edge, to a velocious plunge of uncharted depths....

Flightless birds never hatched

False face forced on because I'm lost in space. High above the ground is where my journey follows, myself and so many to-be friends, with names more than a man can swallow. Figuring a way to preserve my loneliness, lest I find my mind distressed, not through distrust- I'm just opposed to changes. We'll work together to build up these cages, built with fears and body languages, yes the tongue that transcends barriers is the ultimate in a creation of personal space, yes I said I'm lost in space, but for how long? Say we find ourselves. Creators and destroyers are undoubtedly holding hands, their art is understood only by those who tear them down, only destroyers, since the contained are unreachable, somehow unable break a thing, chickens never hatched from an egg, so safety stunts and suffocates.

A Tortuous Device

A little bit of torture Has me wondering if I should water down the mixture, maybe Blur the picture slightly. Biting harder makes it better when the bullet never shatters, only if I were born harder, sworn I would've been a smarter guy, but often life proceeds before my eyes as if it were disguised, and if the world goes on unseen am I determined to be blind? I wish my inner person were so kind to offer up the choice to hide behind illusions, but instead I have confusions and delusions of ideal conclusions, prior never to a movement from a place of comfort to a torturous device. And as the lesson tells of power gained, the device is mine, engaged upon advise from my own mind, a roll of dice ignites a thrill, like fires of hell, pain quickly forgotten, yes I might be ill but god I want MORE, can't you tell!

Last entry from a wanderer's notes

Today is day #9,268

My tank is empty, so I am on foot. I've been walking around in the hull of my mind, and it is like a cave which once overflowed, now damp and large with emptiness. My footsteps echo, and I wonder when this happened. Did I spring a leak? Did it all evaporate? What am I to run on now? A car needs fuel to reach the gas station, otherwise we get out and push. I work and go through the motions, all the while a little part of me wanders the hollowed out caverns of my mind, awe-struck and with questions of what force of nature shaped it. What ancient mechanisms and chance events carved out this container that has long run dry?

It's a ghost town, once bustling with action, once with every facet serving a function. Every part shaped for some reason; now that reason is no more and all that is left is a relic for the explorers to ponder and theorize over. Once fires burnt here, once things were born, thrived and died but only to make room for the next. Did they leave? Or, by some disaster, did they go the way of the dodo? The past occupants of my mind are suspected to be extinct, majestic as they once were. Resources are there, but none consume.

 Seasons cease to come and go, and all the days melt in to one, as nothing tends to repeat itself without interruption. I search out of habit, rather than with a dream I started with. I fear I've been out here alone for too long. Soon to reach the shore of my mind. Soon to lay out in the water and let it take me away to the deep. Soon to sink below the surface, so the light grows dim and fades into dark. Soon to reach the bottom, where old things settle and tell stories to no one. My eyes are open.