item #6789

Get me Kafka, I've a thought to share.

I exist, only I cannot verify, neither by email, phonecall, chatroom, or messenger. I'm using ethereality as thought; albeit poked along dark wires. I do not exist anywhere but here. I am a fixture of some dressing-up box. Thoughts select me. I accompany them, day-to-day. Existence precludes affirming world. You can dress this up any way you like, but it's just true. I have only one limitation in knowing this: your pleasure, and its strictures and curtailments. Your body wreaks finite, and I'm growing ever-sicker.

My preference is for coordinates of pain.