Derived out of the living; a pen crawled up towards me or in this case a keyboard.

I don’t like to deceive myself into thinking that I am a writer; I am not. What I am is nothing more than a vessel flying through the space where all thoughts inhibit this seeming emptiness.

Awake to the ability of tuning out of myself and into the Writing itself, I write. Yet, if I, myself, don’t write it; the Writing – as alive as it is, as I am, as is all comic book characters in your real universe, as is all that is dead, as is – will find another host to attach to and manifest itself in this dream-verse.

the It within the Vessel