I appreciate your presence, reader. Please, stay a while, I have not much to offer you but my words, and the semblence of coherence that fades in and out of the pages of this place. I think the reason this place exists, maybe, is for me to try and piece together the fragments that make up who I am, if something so concrete can even be declared. I have spent countless hours poured over the streams that ebb and flow from my one source - if such a thing exists, really, it may as well be many diverged rivers filling the one lake, but that's for another time. If my words, be it here on this first visage, or in my Laments, stir or resurrect within you something you've seen within yourself, then I am your friend, and I would love it if you would leave me a kind prayer at the altar. There is fog, surely, but God will soon descend.

I had to stare into the mirror, and ask why it didn't come to my aid -- all the while it had promised to, that is all it ever promised to do. That is what it claimed to exist for. Mother said 'don't stare too long', smoke escaping a cigarette in a hurry to cloud the ceiling of the bathroom, 'there's demons in the reflection'. Now I limp with heavy steps over the linoleum, my hand clutching the pillars by the grooves in the ivory, listening to the whispers of God between the cavernous slits in the foundation; a patch of nettles pressed against my wounds.