Again, I set a new mind in hand, sculptured like a work of art that I purposely destroy with pride. The Conquered jestures I portray and entone are that of your amnisty. The truth that lies before me steals the idea of existance and anima, yet my gnostic look upon life is that of an inward disapline that ends all joys of suprise. A conjured Primises of embeselment allows me the enjoyment of self-reprisel and a non-judgemental consious. Ha, the words I speak are not even interpreted correctly, like it matters anyway. My end is set in stone, and the stone grows short. Be aware I am tired of the cencoreship, relating anything you know to me is rubish. I exist in difference, intolirable to the normal mind I repent nothing. Puzzled? So am I. Insomnia wins again!