... colors aren't colors and the air feels different when I am in this state. It feels stale. Almost like there is no air at all. Like leftover air. Here and there. Tiny puffs of clouds of oxygen that will soon dissipate. And it doesn't scare me. I don't care. I still prefer this to terror. As awful as this is. I can always sleep for days. Terror incapacitates you and takes away your ability to escape. You become a prisoner in your own body. You can't even trust your own senses. Heat might be cold and everything might be a delusion. I wonder if I will die in a fire one day because I believe it is sand or confetti or something. That would be a pleasant way to die. My last thoughts would be that I was on a beach enjoying myself in the sun or at a party with friends that I made up. I wouldn't mind terribly being totally insane. This half-way thing is a bit horrible. Watching myself be insane and being aware of it is kind of the worst thing that can happen to any human.

A letter to my father backing him up radically, while coaching the idea of seeking to "hold our own" --with our intuitive champion excellence-- amongst and in the context of a heavily-propagandized colonial society with its meta orders for how its subjects "must" act at all times. Men and women (who are tired of not "fitting in"). We all have or Ordered roles to "play" but after awhile, and especially as we are forced to face the Great Unknown of passing on from this life, we naturally begin to dissent. Usually we're way too unpracticed in this, and much less articulate. Here, my father and i at least have a rudimenatry bridge. Stay tuned to possibly read an edited version of my father's possible response (tho not likely, i hope he writes me back!).

stress over a long period

like an entire life

causes illness

love causes change.

all over the place from panic to peace

As an introduction of myself to the Icarus community, I throw bits and pieces of my life into cyberspace, with no expectations.  This is really without risk.

Alright, on with it.