This has to be my thing, right? This need to know everything to the point where it’s almost masochistic ?!

Just moments before sleep takes me, I think of how I am dictated by these sheets of paper and illuminations of a certain computer screen that I have come to both hate and love from such overuse. I’ve always been a denizen of the night, stirring away the silent hours into my cup. The noise of the day is silenced, and I am alone with the memories.

But it is that very moment between when the thread of consciousness is cut and the AM architect begins his construction of labyrinths worthy of Daedalus that overwhelms me most. Secondary and tertiary voices, usually so full of euphemisms, find the toxic need to perform seances to commune with all the excrement of what I’ve once released from my own Pandora’s box. Live and let die, I’ve said, but some things do die hard, like your image.