My mask is scared, like my soul, when i think I’ve hit rock bottom, futher extends the rabbit hole, a bottomless well of things not swell. My survival seems loosely bound on the contract of beyond the pale, in so much that my pain tolerance is unbelievably high, and it’s not withstanding of any well off coasting-life is peachy-sorta lie. More indicative the truth is that i must be able to bite the bitter bullet; or accept that life is too miserable, and i must die….but I gotta ask the tempting devil pushing me off the edge, why…really why? Life never ceases to amuse, so why rush it’s explosive fuse? Life is an already a booming dramatic horror show, and a ironic bad mystery! Also I’ve definatly paid fully for my ticket of life admittance, Hell it was even over priced, so their is no reason to miss it, but every reason to Chronicle it, because it’s far more stranger than Fiction. So you can realise, without doubt, all my truth-is in… all my meta-fiction, and you can tell from it’s truthful universal friction. Go ahead mark my words, universal friction is the diction of all the meta truths that your welcome to sleuth-s, but also don’t be suprised when you find the puzzle-prize fully-suits, and why i see myself as Alien, more so than mammalian…. or better yet beyod-the-pale-ian -pigmalian.