I have thought often on such Subjects as the Nature of all Fears & Pleasures, & of Pains both Physickal & Mental. And scouring Archaic Texts for a constant source, a River without Division as such that were it a Rod it would not Divine, from which I could create a Tool of harm against both Gods & Daemons, of which I do not doubt you both belong. You might ask your Self a Question for every Minute of every Hour of each remaining undying Day to be had, & you would never think or imagine the Answer to My Prayer. And Tears of unbounded Distress will flow through the aggregate Crags of your Visage, & those Crags, those Valleys, will fill as the World once did, to drown the Sin carried in all your Flesh when I have wrought this Havoc I design. There will be no Noah to rescue two of every Molecule within your Blood to wait this Crying out. For what is True Fear but to know your End? And what is the Knowledge of your End but the End in itself? Such will be our Understanding when we meet again.
I haven't been sleeping well. At night I lie restlessly, the incessant itch of thought manifesting on the surface of my recently shaved head as an incessant itch of itch.
My eyes burn from the strain of scouring the fabled internets for more destinations to launch my hapless credentials and hope they land in the lap[top] of someone willing to give me a job. (So if you meet me, understand that I don't have conjunctivitis—honest.)
The scouring has not worked. "Susan" called to ask if I'd like to join the sales team over at "Probable Mafia-Front for Affordable Money-Laundering". Monster has inundated my "business" e-mail with offers for a bigger dick, but no way to fill my wallet so I can afford that Monster-cock I always dreamed of. (Oh, Monstercock, I'll have you yet!)
I am afraid.
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