25 August 1999

How does one begin the saga of a life, the thoughts and emotions of two thousand years bottled up inside me. Do I become the most prolific writer that ever lived? Bore myself with the ramblings of my sometimes dilluted mind? I cannot begin to fathom the depths to which I have sunk, will sink, to continue this endless existence. A day becomes a century in my mind. How to quicken the plodding wasteland inside me? You, my new friend, will help ease the long, longing lonliness. You will give me a comfort I do not deserve....

7 October 1999

I wander alone through the darkness that can only exist within. My isolation, this desolation, keeps me from any true connections. How can someone wander through this world as I have, and be so disconnected to it? I only exist in me, so why do I exist on this planet? I made a spider silk attempt, I met a woman much like me. We talked. It was... nice. The sharing of secrets conpletely unacknowledged by the outside world, a deep inner longing, an outward grasping for someone to listen, to understand. I felt it. But time in its infinite monstrosity is sacrosanct, and it ended. We need the acknowledgement of our own kind to exist, not simply move as ignored ghosts through the plane of our misery. An end for now, but a new beginning as well. A shattering and a healing of the soul. Time corrupts, blood corrupts, but the soul is a purified sanctum.