Feels like a gnawing surface tension is about to overcome my body. I have been overcome with what can only be described as a backlash against my growing pride. I have decided to view my own horrid situations as an attempt by the gods to keep me humble. This does nothing to relieve the agony? Difficulty? Insanity? I am going to try to type faster than I can think so as to keep this thing with only lame names for itself away from me.
Here it begins the rtping must continue the beast is closing in on me please forgive me a few typos it is because I have no time, no time at all to think before I start typing the typing must continue I must keep writing this pressure is extraordinary and if I keep going it will be like the ending scene of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and I’ll burst through a glass window and then the movie will end. The movie will end. The credits will roll. Is this a shorthand for a kind of mystical insight in which my self disappears? Or the end of my life via some grisly avenue? I don’t have time to think of its symbolism. I must keep writing before the thing comes and eats me, I have to outrun my own subconsciousness or and the other thing that is trying to get me.
Keep it up, do not follow conventional habit forms. Stop imagining what other people think of you. Stop imagining what a nameless creature believes of you. Nothing one can do will prepare them for other people thinking ill of them if they have already decided to invest importance in the thoguhts of the others. Lost in the crowd, I depart from the station in a quick bout of enforced insanity while my girl tries to help me I am no longer steering the helm.