aBit :: Nicolai Solheim
So...
There is an idea of me; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my true nature, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there. Yet, I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip. I guess I'm a pretty sick guy, albeit I realize certain strangeness - a bizarre quality. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have surpassed. I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my misery to be inflicted on others. But even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my agony continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing. I'm leaving. I've assessed the situation, and I'm going.
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