The realm that I exist in is not of man. Nor is it of angels or demons. It is not among the dead, but rather, it is interlaced between all of these entities. It is place where very few have gathered and few ever will. You see, to be in touch with my senses and more so with my soul is a difficult matter. It is overwhelming to be face to face with ideas that are so rational they drive me mad. Here, I create my own insanity…except the word insanity doesn't exist. This is where the confusion begins. Here, there is peace, happiness and sorrow…mostly sorrow. Being at peace does not mean that I am happy. It means that I have accepted what has been, what is, and what is to come. The brief happiness that I may encounter will not be lasting. It is something that should be held onto with a firm grip and appreciated while it is mine, for the other will never take the time to look into the depths of my spirit and if they do - they surely will not stay for reasons only he and I will ever be aware of. The sorrow is in knowing that I will forever remain here. On this couch, in this rocker, on this step…anywhere and everywhere…immobile. The truth in my existence is evident. In this kind of life, I create the most beautiful, honest, and humble forms of literature, painting, and music that will ever exist...inside of my own mind. The world will never get a chance to experience it due to the fact that I am paralyzed by this rare state of consciousness in which I am imprisoned.