Sunday, 17 July 2011

This is what made me

The pitch black, the bitter darkness which sucked all light from my soul.

The unending pain. The hope of death as my only rest. My only hope for
peace.

And other stuff.

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About Me

We It comes in part from an appreciation that no one can truly sign their own work. Everything is many influences coming together to the one moment where a work exists. The other is a begrudging acceptance that my work was never my own. There is another consciousness or non-corporeal entity that helps and harms me in everything I do. I am not I because of this force or entity. I am "we"