Hussssh. There's not much to say. We're behind a mask. Perhaps it is only here, as Nietzsche said, that we can be true. As usual I don't know what it says with its ever so expressive silence (it shares this tendency towards silent loudness with most of my output) -- perhaps you can hear, you who hear well?
I am happy that I captured how all the letters are bustling under the skin, throbbing, longing to get out. They would love to become words, explode as syllables and perhaps even whole sentences before they die, but they're being held captive within our bodies and we don't let them.
No wonder that the face looks as mad as it does, eyes cold, sharp and dim. As if it thought;
"I know, I know painfully well, but I can never tell.
Particularly not in front of myself."