Myself. Throughout the day this changing person, recollection, introspection, I charge through an underworld. Streams coating the calypso vertebrae, each thought a complex direction of fear with pixel pores of misdirection. I can recreate the imaginarium of reality with so little effort, just the slow watch of patterns and explanation of my fanatical tantrum. These days inhabited by a ghost in a shell, replaceable and escapable yet so dear to me. The sliding moments caught in recognition that the emotions take control and make me less than whole. The fermenting glaze of feeling and every second lead by invisible puppet pulls into chaos. Stepping out of the water, current sleeking over hollow bamboo bones.