Humane

He probably represented humanity, in hindsight. He even said as much.

It was preternaturally dark, and when I asked him if he was afraid, he replied "Why would I? T'is only the dark."

And he was at home in the dark, and with all the things that dwelt there. Great terrors reached out to grab at us, but when they felt him near, they recoiled, for even the great Evils of the Dark feared his touch and his passing.

And then Dawn came, and light pooled down upon us, dewy and fresh. When I asked him if he was sickened, he replied "Why would I? T'is only dawn's first light."

And he drank it like a mead, and was heartened. And all of the Light's creatures withdrew from his gaze, so great was his hunger, his thirst. All of Nature hid from him, and grew to be wary of his passing, for he was a great predator that was always hunting.

When I asked what manner of creature he was, that feared neither dark nor light. That held and beheld fire and was not afraid, and knew and contested of Good and Evil, and he replied:

"I am Man. I am all these things, and more."

Je suis un mur, et c'est tout que je serai toujours

There is nothing between us.

Except for a hundred million miles of inexplicable alienation, and an unwillingness to row forward together.

Je veux hiberner.

800

Words.

Three. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Four thousand. Ten thousand four hundred and forty four. One hundred eighty thousand, three hundred eight.

Words are my refuge. My tool. My crass addiction. Words are my prize and my gift, my offering and my withdrawal. Words are my illness and my cure. I can never have enough, but I always have too many.

It all comes back to me, and the realization is stark. This is it. This is what I've been looking for. More words. Descriptions. Dates and times and people and places, nouns and verbs. This is the inspiration I've been missing, and the truth becomes clear. A metaphor. What's called inspiration is, to me, not a pleasant affair. The definition is clear.

What you call inspiration, I call an anxiety attack. A period of prolonged feelings of unease, of unwellness. Depression. Fear. Anxiety.

I can't imagine another hour of this. Every minute's like a held breath. How did I make it this far?

The answer's clear. In fact, it's spread out before me. Pages and pages of it.

Pleasant reminder

Group outings are a goddamn nightmare.

Talk at me some more, please.

Graces, and how to be a giant dick

Small talk is something that I can't fathom as a function of mine, which is ironic, I suppose, as people often find me humorous to be around.

It's a defense mechanism, or so I'm told. I make people laugh to ease tension and to allay anxiety. My anxiety mostly. But now that I've been told this, every time I crack wise, I picture one of those little lizards that pops their tail off at the first sign of trouble.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I'm in a strange situation. A... friend of mine and I are somewhat close, and every time we talk, she finds something either new or amusing out about me. I play music. I cook. I write. Fucking amazing, I know. Or I would. These are all fantastic skills I've acquired in an effort to avoid people. Or more directly, their criticism. Incapability and evil are the same thing in the average person's mind - remember that. I digress (again). So, we're talking away. She's being flirtatious. I'm just being a right goober. All's well, as I'm more comfortable as a singing, dancing, talking, cooking, writing monkey, than as an accomplished suitor.

Or would be. On the flip side of the "mirror", there's another guy (not me), talking to another girl (not my friend), and it's a completely... well. It's a negative image. Whereas I crack jokes and stumble around in a conversation like a drunken sailor, this fellow greets curtly, and then goes back to what he's doing. The girl he's speaking to is his girlfriend, whom he alternates between browbeating and ignoring. She's in a bad mood, and gets snarky. There's a bit of back and forth, then suddenly the mirror breaks.

I spent the next two hours going around with my foot in my mouth. That is, ladies and gentlemen, how to be a giant dick. Pull your best friend into a feud with your woman and you will - without a doubt - find yourself in a world of such verbal lye, your skin will start flaking off.

My own personal lesson from this event is twofold. One, never joke when somebody's furious. Two, have a car. Every single trait a man can have, short of a horse cock, is secondary to transportation.