I think its Count of Monte Cristo meets Cryptonomicon, with a bit of Lord of the Rings.That would be something to write home about, perhaps even be proud of.

I’m not even sure about that. I’m not even sure about that. I can’t say enough about how unsure I am about that.

Leave it to me to think of this, to bring myself to this and leave it. Left for a purpose, sure, considered, not really. I can’t think of a better way to begin; a better way to think about, or approach, this “matter.”

I sometime wondered what reasons I had, wondered why G was so prominent, and how I’d come to this. The lowest of the middle lows, the basement of mediocrity, the lower middle class. I thought wondering might bring clarity, but I see now, it’s clear now, that it didn’t.

My next question is this: how far can I go; how far can this go? The inevitable conclusion remains a looming stone. I would say teetering, but I won’t. Boulder? Cacophony? Please. Spare me, spear me, spar with me. I almost lost it there, you see. I could tell.

Harold Pinter, a man, met once, well met, and considered. I looked out across, reaching leg for open space, stretching my legs for freedom.

I’m not sure about this anymore.