Words, words, words.

Letters and numbers and symbols make up words, communicate our ideas, thoughts, feelings, desires, disasters, loves, hates, questions, doubts.

I just crumble them up and throw them into you and it doesn't seem to do much good. Not yet, I'm sorry.

Does anyone ever get anywhere on a journey of self exploration? Last time I knew me, I stumbled upon myself in On the Road by Jack Kerouac. Yep. Maybe I should retrace my steps. But if I go back, won't I be going backwards? That would only lead me back HERE in three or four years. I never want to be here again.

"I don't know where I'm anymore." (Grandaddy lyrics.)

I can't get a line from a Smiths song out of my head. "The queen is dead, boys." Is that it? The queen is just dead? Give up hope or start rejoicing: I'm not sure which should ensue.