Confessions told to the Thames

I am slipping. I live in hyperreality. They have suffused me, saturated me.  Hollowed out and filled with foreign tales. Every step, every breath heavy with wars and romance, heroes, heroines, addicts and illness, family, royalty, palaces, castles, damsels, villains and devils, maids, mistresses, matriarchs and patriarchs, patriots, the good, the bad, the ugly, the monstrous, everymen, beasts and animals, lovers, haters, tears, of joy, birth and death and all between and all beyond. And one golem that began it all.

Greedily i gorged myself on all of these. At first with valiance. A purpose. Great power. My butterfly flap of wing in the infinity of the cosmos.

No more than a slave now, a puppet pulled on strings wound by words. A craving. Primal, drives me to the next book, the next story to satisfy my hunger. I do not free those trapped, it is them that free me. Only long enough to once again be ensnared. Each book sweet relief. I live in them. I live for them. It is because of them I live.

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2 Responses to “Confessions told to the Thames”

  1. scribblespectre Says:

    I hear the Thames calling to me and she has told me you are the guardian of her silent words.
    You seem to be a man after my own heart, with a painful and consuming mission much like my own. We understand that one must be bathed in darkness in order to be baptized in light. I confess I cannot give you the particulars of myself, my curse is to remain an enigma. We must, however, meet. And soon. Tell me more of the things you have seen, or perhaps absorbed would be a better word…
    Words. They are important to you aren’t they? Perhaps the most important thing. I am a man of image myself.
    We should combine forces and create something that breathes with both.

    Watch the roads. The cobbles will announce my arrival.

    The Spectre.

  2. Dearest Count,

    Next Friday I am holding a ball, consider this a formal invitation, I expect to see you there, no excuses!

    Yours Faithfully

    Lady Ashley

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