I have a sense of calm at this moment. I could aim to hold it further into the night, but such things are never easy.

I far often come to this website and think of what it means to me to think of myself in a category of peoples. I suppose it gives one a sense of place at times to do such things. I haven't any great desire of place I crave. I often think this world is not my place, and I hold out.

I'm looking at my hands in this room lit only by the colors of this screen. This machine and it's hum...I've heard people speak of the hum of their computer many times as I read over rants, diaries and other such seemingly personal accounts laid out suspiciously on the public counter-top. I've caught myself wandering. My hands. They look different than they did when I was younger. They somehow seem to match the thoughts I have.

Many times I wander into this place, this series of snapshots that "feel" like a realm I can walk into. I read the words...sometimes. I scan most the time for what might stop my eye and tell me something truthful. Mostly, I see people's thoughts tapped out with all the torments, sadness and isolating queries I have. Maybe a person might make mention of a movie shot, where the background had a clue to their destiny. I'm not sure what ever convinced me I might find my path to truth amidst drawn out accounts of psychiatric stays, but it hasn't been all fruitless. And I know how hard it may be to sum up a stay in the hospital, especially to better illuminate what bipolar - schizo effective really means.

I guess I'm feeling a part of something, but still I wonder about what it is. What is it?

I isolate myself constantly and try to hold onto my future. Maybe I might lose it all. Maybe every thread of real I have found will one day be gone. When can I meet all these people? And will I still feel up to it later? What is my question?

I am oppressed. I cannot lie and say I don't feel it. I try to make it. I am uncertain of many things. Paul Simon said the more I reach my destination the more I'm slip slidin' away. I guess I believe it. I feel certain pressures. I feel the squeeze of this world. I read through all these words and think I know this person, but how do I know them all? Do I want to look them in the eyes, or will I fearfully stare downward and remember nothing but a worn-out pair of tennis shoes?

I have no real reason for being right here in this chair, reading this...none that I know of. I can't remember what brought me this far into it. Am I drawn to the curiosity? Am I waiting for some kind of phrase that will help me through tomorrow? Who knows.

Regardless of any thread of thought, I am. Whatever words I speak, or don't, have little to say to what I feel. All this. All this searching and spilling and gathering have brought me through some times. When I laugh I forget who cries. When I cry I see only laughter. And as I go back and come back and go forth, I know...

What it is to reach and fold all in once calling love by name and seeing pain when you look through me and I look through you, from screens, across rooms, over counter-tops so secretively and drink we from longing's steamy cup together satisfied with pursuit but alone joining hands with hope for connection.