And I Sit Here Without Identity: Faceless.

I Love My Rejection Slips. They Show Me I Try.

August Rain: The Best Of The Summer Gone, And The New Fall Not Yet Born. The Odd Uneven Time.

There Is A Certain Clinical Satisfaction In Seeing Just How Bad Things Can Get.

I Couldn’t See The Point Of Getting Up. I Had Nothing To Look Forward To.

And You Grit Your Teeth, Despising Yourself For Your Tremulous Sensitivity, And Wondering How Human Beings Can Suffer Their Individualities To Be Mercilessly Crushed Under A Machinelike Dictatorship, Be It Of Industry, State Or Organization, All Their Lives Long.