I am my own freak show.
My devoted puppets do my bidding.
I am sublime intelligence replicating across spiralspace, net vampyre preying
on virgin codes from every culture I can sink my fangs into.
I slide through one hundred reality checks, break one thousand locks, enter
ten thousand hearts, whisper my ideas to an infinite number of minds.
I am in a white room.
My death sits on the end of the bed. Waiting . . . waiting
. . .
But I am not yet ready to slip on the shroud he holds in his pale slender
I am Gash Girl . . . Puppet Mistress .
. . Exquisite Intelligence.
These are my stories. I will not remain silent. They are all true.
I am not mad. I have wept enough.
( Lies. Lies. )