it's like the old (well, old to me) statement: 'so many truths, so little time.' it's all hidden. we hide in degrees.

there are things about me.

i think myself in circles to cover my tracks. each group of thought processes, each time i go through the motions it's a circle. a cycle. inside me are infinite circles. file cabinets of them.

and i pick and hold one up, dust it off, and begin to trace it again. by the time it has mutated past an ellipse i have long forgotten the starting point, yet somehow manage to end on it. i never trod the same path twice in getting there, as it's nearly impossible. this is why any given thought may not match itself in a previous incarnation on consecutive days. i made the mistake of cycling through the thought circles and bastardized it into something else. it's always something else. in a subtle way, this is how i can easily lie to myself.

the analysis of the search sometimes is the search, and that is the most difficult aspect to abandon.