I am but a bundle of impulses. Whatever I feel I think; much of what I think I do. But I'm so afraid I'll do what I feel.
There is no thought when the line between body and mind annihilates itself. What once was thought is now process. By its side is performance, expression's tenebrous complement. I don't know which is which at times, my consciousness a tad flatter, my heart beating a little faster. They're fool's errands to untangle…