Us

Dear One,

What you have discovered here is a private notebook, whose pages are the fragments of my shattered mind.

I, like all writers, am an informant, a reject of society.

I am an exhibitionist, a pervert, a barking dog.

Take care, in the throes of these ribald entertainments, these weird joys of the mind, that you do not become a mere voyeur, peering toward a lighted room at the distant end of some labyrinthine corridor.

Take care that you do not forget yourself…

…for the labyrinth stares back.

…for it is you who performs here.

N.

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