Somnambulist

I am 28 years of rough seas, a belly full of riggling tentacles and infant skulls, vitriol veined and vacant eyed, all spine and ribcage spitting pleura and nostrum back in your face.

And questions give us no rest. We know not why our curse makes us seek we know not what, ever and ever. But we cannot resist it. It whispers to us that there are great things on this earth of ours, and that we can know them if we try, and we must know them. We ask, why must we know, but it has no answer to give us. We must know that we may know.

Anthem, by Ayn Rand

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