Here come those sad winds again.

I had managed to lessen the noise, maybe just mental, but today mechanical and electronic chirps and squeals, and I can here myself think, an awful tinny networked fridge noise.

death is the final answer really. the final fullstop into which life pours like a river.

a life bathed in static? will i have to endure a life bathed in static?

it's ok. i'm merry enough. i'm at work. a sea of work before me. i'll never be ready. she said. i always say that.

The nerves are just a web in which we're trapped
If we suck our own blood we may become suitably brittle to be blown free.

I am wondering about the possibility of biofeedback control.
Brittle blown free, brittle blown free. I feel relaxed but secretly tense, like I'm watching for the ghost on the ramparts, "Halt! Who goes there?" The hour is almost come... when I... must render up myself...