Glitched Thoughts

One single slip, and a slip cannot be avoided, will stop the whole process, easy and painful alike, and I will have to shrink back into my own circle again.—“Resolutions.” By Franz Kafka Who am I writing to? To you, whatever bored soul that reads this or to this lingering ghost of life wandering the cobweb decorated halls of this body? Does it matter? Consider this a letter. Not a message in a bottle, for that implies that I want it to be found, to be read. No, a letter can be lost with all the other messages, heaped together will all sorts of words. Words of enticement, words of threatening, words of encouragement, words of love. In the bottle, the message becomes the sole objective, the sole fact. You see, I want to be lost. The message leads like a map back to the writer, but I do not want to be found. The letter comes bearing its genesis on its envelope, and, since we know its history, we do not care to visit the address. To be invisible is to be seen. G.K Chesterton’s de