I will find her father, among that great expanse of wine black ocean she will sing her song of existence upon yon rock. She, too, is alone on her island of the self and so shall I rouse the boat of my own making and become the captain of the single ship.

Where still does she stay and what direction must I go? I know not. I know little, but I do know this; she is out there. The tomboy GF is out there father, among the darkened woods and beyond the spiraling Stygian pits of impossible geometry. Aghast shall others be, their despair understandable and attractive to myself even — for who has not thought to lay down and breathe their remaining breath looking at the stars that twinkle slyly at the madness of the sloth? I know, for certain, that it is an action I have contemplated.

Yet I shall not lay down among the fields of corpses that has sprouted like so many weeds or fallen like so much dead wood. Nay! That is what I say, father. Nay.

She is out there, my straight tomboy GF between 18 - 25. And I shall cross the threshold of the long dark, of the horrible light, and attain the strength to lift her from her tower and slay the dragon that society has built for me.

I will find her, father. And so shall I show myself, the world, and the monsters of the wine black seas that I am that which crushes beneath my heel that so insidious a thing as despair