There are often things like that. The pages flip by with eager anticipation, like a good book always does, yet there has been nothing, up until this point, to market this as truth. Did you actually read it?

And what do I know, the things I might be inclined to say during a plaintive conversation, a comparison of rights and freedoms, the legality of talent and future stardom. For this reason I know little of your truth, but I will tell you mine.

I have done less than I say. There are only a few things to know about my actions, usually they are not so greater, or I don’t see these things as any particular greatness. I have done less than some, more than some, but I have done. This is more than a truth, mainly because it is being done right now.

I can say that I am being broken at this very moment. I like this line because it reminds me of blue gloves. Blue gloves. Blue gloves and maybe some form of strangeness. I cannot go there, but it feels as if my thoughts are little birds flocking in certain areas. When they reach their branches of things to hang from, these things being my memories, I feel morose and nostalgic, and I cannot change this feeling. I have known some people to say ‘feeling is, in itself, a whole self, and nothing but the truth’. But if what makes you feel cannot be trusted, how can this be possible? If what governs an Electro-Chemical flaw is, by nature, something entirely insurmountable. That is a big word.

So as this mad doctor slides his Blue gloves over his hands and observes my mother’s hemorrhage, can you not say these thoughts are real? That being broken reminds me of the day I lost her? Even if these days are long gone, inside the crooks and juts of my mind, especially if I should have gotten over it by now, or seen some several things in it. I know this is the truth, as well as it is the hard truth; my mother has been dead for seventeen years.

I perspire into greatness. I simply am it, and sometimes that is not what I feel. But that is what is, if that makes sense to you. I will tell you something;

It doesn't make sense to me. Not at all. Not one damn bit.