I was about to shut down this computer but I decided to write. I've been silent after the autopsy, I still am, but I feel that a sense of structure and balance should rule over these superimposed aspects of my life so that I will not come into an inevitability that might prove irrevocable. I should figure out a way to approach this off-handedness and ambiguity. I see nothing now but the designed and polished tangible aspects of existence and I am afraid I might be losing my grasp on the things I hold most dear, those that reside in Plato's world of ideas, I do not know. I am off, I am Icarus, flying, oblivious to Daedalus' words. So far, I do not smell wax melting or the salt of splashed ocean. Maybe the sun isn't out yet. Or maybe, I am walking on Crete soil, daydreaming.
