Damn you all.
Now I have this compulsion to write.
I do not think that I have anything worthy of utterance. There have always been long silences in my life. These have been the places where I do not exist, where the rest of you do not exist. There is nothing in this silence that I must protect myself from. Silence is impotent. It is unintelligible.
And now this ceaseless stream of words that remind me of myself, are myself. I do not look in the mirror often enough to notice that an existence is present, that I stalk myself perpetually. That escape is impossible. I hate mirrors. I hate my words. They look on me as much as I look back on them. They judge me as much as I do them.
My words are fat when the rest of me might not be. Deformed when health is with me. Misinformed when I might possess all the facts. They lie when I am honest and betray me when I seek to deceive. Traitorous bastards.
In this medium I cannot put them on trial. All I can do is delete these traces of me. But since I can not put them to a judicial end, I must leave justice to you. A public I know only by the same treacherous tokens that we leave on the screen. I can only look to other words to judge mine. How can I expect them not to fraternise. To not consort and conspire – do they whisper to each other when we switch our computers off? How would we know?
I am still compelled. Fear always compels me.
For some reason I like putting myself on trial.
There is still some guilt that I must atone for.