[Trilby]

I don't write because basically, I am a whiney-sort of person. The world does not need another confessional from another alcoholic, bulimic, Born-Again, ex-con, ex-Moonie, kidnap victim or prostitute. If I told my "story" I would only be contributing to the Vacuous Black already teeming with monsters out there. And besides! The story isn't even finished! That wouldn't be quite fair to the reader, would it? Having no ending is like stopping right before your partner cums! It's mean-spirited, is what I'm saying. The only possible reason for writing anything is to see if my mind still works. To see if I recall anything at all or if I've indeed become a victim of Korsakoff's Syndrome. I am, incidentally, right in the very midst of a juicy, life-altering (possibly including Time in the Pokey!) scenario, but I haven't the heart. Why make you misreable when you can read the very amusing toilet messages between SV and Arsen? Now there's a story! (No disrespect meant to either party.) I thank you for this opportunity for 'sharing', though. Very good of you all.