***A small leatherbound journal lies open, serving as a pillow for its owner. Let us look over his shoulder and view the musings of a man who has been to hell and back. It may seem an invasion of privacy, but we are resolved in our intrustion. We care not for privacy. The world is an open book, for we are the readers.***

October 1, 794 TR

I-I think I've got things together now. Maybe some of the outer shell is filling in. God I hope so. I don't know what this thing is that has me asunder. Perhaps I am taken by demons. But I would know. Yes, I would have to know. Or can one be so possessed by something, so enthralled, so totally covered and shrouded that all peripheral senses are eluded and one is totally decieved of the very nature of things?

But what would be the point? If there is no way to discern what is real, and what is possession, then what difference can it make? Why do we always strive for deeper levels? Why can we not take things at base? Is that so bad a thing? I fear we may get lost in the hunt for meaning. I nearly was.

I realized that there was little point in searching for some great thing lurking in the corner of the eye, at the edge of heaven. Life is there, simply to live, and live one must. Just live. Why must there be more? Life can bring as much happiness as anything else. Fullfillment isn't something you buy, or hunt for, or fight for. You grant it to yourself. You must take the things you have, and know them all and well, and declare to yourself that they are yours and they are plenty and you are happy with them. Pride is not the subject of silver, neither is bliss.

It is a strange thing, bliss. For all the virtues of logic, it must be noted curious that a second's chaos can bring the same result guranteed by years of logical study. But is the difference in time such a matter of import? What is they hurry? Will the world end in a year? No, it only takes a second. Things happen, and always will, and there is no stopping them.

I say, take what you will from life, the options are many, but seek not to model some "best" life, or "ideal" life. Or do even, it makes no difference. Life is life is life is life, and death the same. Fools that think else, but it makes no difference.

It is late, and I should be sleeping, but what is sleep worth anyway. Such a pointless activity. A waste. You just lie there, doing nothing. But then, why seek action, why must things be constantly in motion. Perhaps some rest is necessary to maintain the balance.