by Arran James
Reading old posts on this blog and on the blog I kept before. Seeing references to adolescence- to childhood. A terrible realisation. There is a horrific consistency to my thoughts:
To my one thought.
Interested? Of course you aren’t. Still…what else is there to do but write at this time?
Since the moment I first lied to myself that I was a self, from the awakening of the knowledge of the inevitable, irrevocable lie, I have circled the same plughole.
I have just brushed my teeth. I taste fresh. In this room and on this page I am at last telling the truth.
Tomorrow… tomorrow… what?