Things are tasteless anymore, I thought that I would have come full circle by now; I have not. My pallet is wet and dripping with hunger for what? Yet the thought of satiating this ****** need causes a kind of reeling from somewhere deep within. There is something of a beast with holding the answer from both this page and myself. It is quite the monstrosity that I find now and again, its claws digging and tearing at the base of brain stem and spine. It softly whimpers, giving away its position for all to hear.