Quote:
Originally posted by Tymps.
The gardener creates the garden, and I'm going to create a world encompassing the self. The flowers with bloom with an archipelago of light, a deluge of information that I won't have the chance to catch in my thumb. Why isn't the world so not unfair? Could it be that what I saw to be an efficacious request was actually a dream composed of nothing but optical illusions? My once-nascent laughter is turning to stone. Kill me, father. Do what you so cried for in the middle of the night. You thought I wasn't home, but I heard every word of your tyrannical ways. Filial what? Soon I will live on the North Pole, and I'll never see my love. My love. My lust? Love, lust. Lust, love. Who is to say which is which?
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Tymps, I have paranoia. Don't be giving me material…
