I like finding the infrequent, tiny stick in what I eat.

I wish there was some way to sensation without needing a presence that can only degrade an experience from its purity. It is unfair; the pristine moment will be relentlessly diluted only with self-awareness, worse yet, awareness of that moment's purity. These things cannot contribute to a beauty so beyond them and they seek for it to come down, into comprehension, and thus separate from divinity. I am guilty of these things. It is the injustice of existence that I can be no other way.

Still, here I sit in slight melancholy, indulging in the pensivity it creates and exploiting all that I would prefer to deny entirely. How can I be called 'hypocrite'? This eager irony is the reality we've come to trust. The question remains: when one becomes acclimated to the truth of living contradiction is it then that the two can agree? Or else has that one become a thing shifted? Perhaps my point has failed and I am a liar either way, though not ever because.

There is this for consolation: I find that sometimes I must pay close attention in order to consider the effect of my body language. It is not embodied yet, this suspicion of self, and seeing remains preferable to being seen.

Unless just the consequence of a crowded solitude.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (10/7/04)