I wish there was a light in here. No place to look, no-one to see me. Just my fingers, toes, heart and mind. I hope my new works will impress, but it's still going to take a while to find the pencil in the drawing. That's how things work when the world is seen by you inside out. But will see... I can only think about time right now, in fact, i sleep walk and eat time. Everything has become irrelevant in my search. I leave at different times in the morning, yet i still arrive at my destination at the same time. How does it all make sense?

This thing, this time, it is very deceptive to interpret. Even your seconds and hours cant change my final destination. Every day I hope, something will happen, something will give me reason to explain my early or late arrival. But it doesn't. I will try something else. Maybe the solution is not to travel to but away from my destination, but doesn't that defeat the fatefullness of time?