Maybe it's because I want to know I am alive. Or maybe I wanted to prove it to the existance of others. I've felt the atom of my futile existance, trillions of cells that made me make me, me. And yet, I don't feel finished.
This, this is my stream of consciousness. As the jay birds of literature have asked the world, listen, for a stranger may find something useful to be used in the creeks which are mine.
My recreation is that of the jay birds. That of which the jay birds do is similar to my therapies. Those therapies are streams, where those streams are is a wonder of the world. We can tell where they end, but where the start, I Ask You. And also of you, I ask that you take my streams and compose them into a better symphony which I ask you to orchestrate.
Now come orchestrate it with me:
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