Now is the time. A breath, then wait... The screws tighten; they loosen me. Poking holes in the moldy sandbags of cognition--stale sorrow seeping out. Whirring gears slow and reverse, and the all-too-subtle tones of the universe split my head in half. Naught but dust remain. Mold and dust; remnants of a past Self. A Self-passed. What is Self? No more than that which has been true. The comets slide past me as I vault skyward, the roof is far too far away, and few know the pain. The pain of Truth; the pain of Freedom. I know. I have bitten myself there, too. And it hurts, like the rodents that we are: spiraling through the unfathomable crevices of our augmented minds...  It is gone now, supposedly whisked away by the temporal taxation that infringes upon our very understanding of the word HOME, yet I still am tied to the skies. The blinding heavens. They beckon...