End of Act Two (unattributed vocabulary)
I have a problem, and it's called live journal.
My sanctuary of imagery and experience has been exposed time and time again. When it isn't being used to dig my own grave, the shovel has become a means of knocking others over the head. Even those who have never read my journal are being persecuted for it, and in turn it comes back to me. My actions have consequences far beyond what I can observe, because they're connected in ways I fail to recognize.
"Did you decide to disappear?"
"No. That's why I came. I thought you might help me."
The last few days, this journal keeps coming back up. From a forum meant to air grievances, it has come to be a source of grief. I mourn the loss and carry on, but I feel rather vulnerable tonight. The dream is dead, but I still live.
"Mythology is a cheap surrogate for history"
More to come.
My sanctuary of imagery and experience has been exposed time and time again. When it isn't being used to dig my own grave, the shovel has become a means of knocking others over the head. Even those who have never read my journal are being persecuted for it, and in turn it comes back to me. My actions have consequences far beyond what I can observe, because they're connected in ways I fail to recognize.
"Did you decide to disappear?"
"No. That's why I came. I thought you might help me."
The last few days, this journal keeps coming back up. From a forum meant to air grievances, it has come to be a source of grief. I mourn the loss and carry on, but I feel rather vulnerable tonight. The dream is dead, but I still live.
"Mythology is a cheap surrogate for history"
More to come.