Being of an odd nature, I randomly look to the ambiguous for some sort of sense of reality. It is often confusing how they shift and sway between the rational and irrational. Are they apparitions? Demons? My own thoughts transfixed on myself and my sense in an effort to confuse me even more? In the dark of night they grow more moody and frighting. What should be a pleasant moon light casts shadows on my floor and walls. As the moon grows higher in the night sky they grow to proportions that might consume my fragile mind in an instant should I begin to curse the moon for its lack of sympathy all the while growing shadows that feast on the neglecting of their mortal (?) selves gorge on my chemically reduced grey matter. It pleases you?! I shout. But It’s mine. I whimper. I shall sleep then. With an empty mind. Good. How well I do sleep at that. When I awake, well, life is just a delusion is it not? And besides, the sun is more sympathetic toward me than the moon. Ah, warm my ignorance. Bliss. What come the moon and evening you ask? I’ll be fine I think to myself. That is what wisps of light and dark say when they are full. Fine. Fine. Full and fine. That is how I enjoy my superstition.