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. My nightly bloodlust has over flown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip. There is an idea of me: just some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, 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. But even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment 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…
