My pen touches this paper, the ink reveals my thoughts as I perceive them. I zone and I don’t, my mind aching to express what can only be understood in the ink that drenches these pages, the only refuge the mirror that frames the stranger staring back at me. The stranger writes the words, I just go through the motions that lead to the expression. I am faceless; an idea in motion, static action, blank noise that strings this marionette corpse adding locomotion on tracks of illusion. I flow with no current, sunken I float in the oblivion ridden with no exchange. I am the essence that the stranger urges to acquire but has no connection to, I fill him but never fulfill him. I am a parasite, I am the giver of life, the mistro of suffering, the fear that leaves him disappointed and alone. I have the answer to the questions he dares not ask, I delude him in thoughts of histeria if he is even to think of asking, thoughts of self-destruction with useless prophecies that erode his mind, my mind, self-understanding of the last question. Are you comfortable stranger? do I frighten you? I hope so, I can be nothing to you, you must achieve it on your own, you are the face of this illusion and the game is not over till it’s over, the last chord, the final moment, the illusion has nothing but information…soak it up and find that it was all that can be and all that has been and the truth, the careless truth will lull you to sleep and be lost in your dreams till the last breath I bid you adieu.

-Angad  ”Gaudi” Singh