psychological lang yan.

 I live in a world of words. When most people are affected by events, by pictures, by colors, I am affected by words. Death is not such a big deal- reading about it is. It is only when words attach themselves to the rest of the world that the rest of the world begins to mean anything, or begins to mean nothing the way something unimportant is supposed to mean nothing. That is the result of growing up within books within books. Nothing happens without the words, and everything of importance, is all in the mind.

Which is a comforting thought, really. Inside my mind, the only real safeguard I have from what is called the real world, I am whatever I choose to be. I am encased in mithril, unassuming and impenetrable. I am free to leave my world or deal with it as I please, free to spin truth from nothing or spin nonsense from truth, as everyone else is, really. The real world is one of the least accurate terms in whatever world there is, real or no. Since each one sees the world according to how their thoughts tell them to. And these thoughts are at least partially products of thoughts that preceded them. And if reality is just a product of the mind, and if the mind can do anything if it were allowed to-

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The afternoon was grand, in the manner usually attributed to evenings and sunrises and not to confused wandering girls in libraries without any schoolwork to be done for the first time in written history, nor to arguments over the cuteness and functionality of a battery-operated stapler, nor to debates (British parliament) over government funding for sex changes. And definitely not to Econ. grades and the alternate dimension that is Sir Vlad's cubicle. He has three TVs.

psychological lang yan.

 I live in a world of words. When most people are affected by events, by pictures, by colors, I am affected by words. Death is not such a big deal- reading about it is. It is only when words attach themselves to the rest of the world that the rest of the world begins to mean anything, or begins to mean nothing the way something unimportant is supposed to mean nothing. That is the result of growing up within books within books. Nothing happens without the words, and everything of importance, is all in the mind.

Which is a comforting thought, really. Inside my mind, the only real safeguard I have from what is called the real world, I am whatever I choose to be. I am encased in mithril, unassuming and impenetrable. I am free to leave my world or deal with it as I please, free to spin truth from nothing or spin nonsense from truth, as everyone else is, really. The real world is one of the least accurate terms in whatever world there is, real or no. Since each one sees the world according to how their thoughts tell them to. And these thoughts are at least partially products of thoughts that preceded them. And if reality is just a product of the mind, and if the mind can do anything if it were allowed to-

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The afternoon was grand, in the manner usually attributed to evenings and sunrises and not to confused wandering girls in libraries without any schoolwork to be done for the first time in written history, nor to arguments over the cuteness and functionality of a battery-operated stapler, nor to debates (British parliament) over government funding for sex changes. And definitely not to Econ. grades and the alternate dimension that is Sir Vlad's cubicle. He has three TVs.