I'm supposed to write about anything so that I can make sure all the new things are working. Luckily, the wheels in my head have been furiously turning and I'm not without a topic.

I have to put a halt to my self-analyzation - rather than resulting in self-improvement or substantive realizations, I get lost in self-created fantasies in which I am everything everyone wants to be or wants me to be or just wants; I'm not certain to which of those I actually aspire but I am certain that I have reached none. And these fantasies, they're not educational, they're consuming and they make reality that much less appealing and they make me even less than I am. Until I'm certain that I don't have any self-truths other than those that only maintain in hidden corners, dimly lit bedrooms, under autumn red trees with dark skies, or betweeen headstones in blue-grey cemeteries. It's in those places that the sacred and absurd, things unspoken and almost unthought can take on the proportions of truth, bending their boundaries dangerously, until they release and madness spills out. And I can't rake it back in as quickly as I used to.

I live and work in truth and untruth, words and phrases. I know what is true and what is not true but I know the harder lesson, I know the time for truth and the time for lies. I know to be afraid of neither and to be wary of both because most importantly, I know how to use truth as a weapon - the deadliest known to man. While I know the power of a lie, I know the power of truth resides in the pauses, not the words. The words are there and they persuade the force of the blow, but it's the pauses that determine fatalities, it's the delivery of the messenger.

Truth IS power, I have to agree, and when you allow someone else to know yours, you have given that over to them. But when you're lost in fantasies, immersed in truths that are not born of substance, then there are no absolutes and without those, there is nothing to hold onto that is - or was - absolutely true. I strive again to find balance perfectly in the centre of this see-saw, leaning neither way between the world that I create and the world in which I live and breathe. But as always, the balance alludes me here as well, and I learn yet another lesson, that when you have no truths that someone else can learn, if they're instead murky and abstract, then you've done something far worse than handing over power, you've surrendured.

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