The loneliness would overtake him sometimes. The emptiness. The fire within reaching out for oxygen.

And so it was, he would seek something out. Something social. Someone human.

The beauty of the digital age occasionally delivering him ready-made, lonely people, free and seeking something too.

This is but one open page, a single area bereft of meaning and lost, but for space. It stands out among the random notes from random meetings, long forgotten, fleetingly trusted, painted ink dependent on gravity, words dependent on letters, letters dependent on scratches and symbols of sounds tied to animals with a conscious mind, lost to one another struggling from the outside, fighting on the inside, wanting that marrow to spin the cycles back and forth.

My words are not my own. They're an amalgam. A mish mash. A sad concoction of a million random influences of a thousand books of hundreds of movies of a million conversations a zillion songs that I absorb. I am powerless over it I am stronger for it I am everything and nothing. Found and lost. Everywhere and nowhere. This is who I am where I am where I stood. This is me powerless to the muse synced to the music hoping for something original something on fire. This is me tired drawn to the night drifting off to dream to sleep to awake one day older with cynicism in place of wisdom with nicotine in place of broccoli. This is me hoping somewhere someone finds it digs it buries it exposes it hides it. This is me hoping that the white line blurs and the highway never ends and hopefully, hopefully, there will be a gas station up ahead with a Monster and some C4 and a plot a story a beginning an end.