I've become a recluse. I've been reading like pages are the food of life. I can hardly stand the company of those who revel in their own brilliance. We've only breached the surface of understanding true creation. Originality is long gone in the graves of the long dead. Where does one begin with the fear that creating will sully the mere spark of inspiration? I can't stand it. I just want to throw it all away. I want to sit in my tower of fear huddled over texts and emptying out my lungs and throat on the world outside.
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