I slowly find myself delving into the dark and mysterious ancient mysteries of the ancients. My writings have slowly dimmed in to the genre of horror which prides me for what better emotion to fuel a story then fear itself? The terror of the mind is a drug best served in the night. Since I have much time to be alone near the windy trees that whisper the old stories, I have opened a new place in me. Where all the child like nightmares went.

Now I can feel the same horror I felt before. Its such a glory to have found. The fear has changed though. No longer do I fear death but perhaps lack of death. Maybe its more of life that I fear. For life and its many horrors are ever so known and very unique. In its montinuous passions I have become aware that I am in a decaying world of fools who are on islands of pride refusing to see those who dwell below the inky oceans. They will be devoured in the storm of scales and claws.

The sacrifices of this age are more perverse then that of the last. Nair the traveler who seeks this path for he shall truly learn why madness is a blessing. Knowledge escapes me now. I traded it for fiction and what better is a fiction that one lives? Ah but my ramblings are meaningless now. Mazes the whole lot of the world.