Promethea

I used to think the world was full of mysterious things to discover. It was my passion. The night sky, the ocean, the paranormal, people.. And then I realized the limits of science, stopped having any conclusive paranormal experiences, and understood people too well -- in all their disappointing predictability.

Abandoned places, new scenery, and star gazing are still things that make me feel alive again. Sometimes a storm can as well. I think that they engage in some kind of foreplay with my imagination -- "something interesting could happen here." Then an empty street at night in the historic district of the city with cobblestone sidewalks, and victorian houses could easily turn into a story. I've often walked alone at night, so I could use the setting as a backdrop for the stories I've written in my head. It was partly escapism, but at least three parts passion for the unknown which led me on these nightly excursions. These types of stories have no beginning or end - and sometimes they are just scenes from within my imagination inspired by the scenery.

There used to be some mysterious element to new people - but I've lost that now. I rarely meet anyone who I haven't met before in some form. Its hard to simply enjoy the mundane experience of anything really. People often enjoy doing -things- together. I enjoy doing most of my things alone. Usually, just having someone around is stiffling. Its like something is jamming my frequencies

I shake your hand
I silently plead "please don't be typical"
Be something I cannot understand..