Refugee From Flatland In Flatland there are no shadows; no shades of grey. There are lines, and there is the abscence of lines, as God created them, one from another and like light and dark, neither existed until the other was formed. In Flat land the world exists all together or not at all. And in Flatland, the Law is God.

Moving from Ohio to Arizona, these are the things I notice: the lack of fireflies; the way no one sits outside; and how the black people talk like white, and the white people dress like teenagers\20-somethings on tv.

I know doubt, I know uncertainty. I know grown-ups lie as a matter of course, but don't know why. I know what it's like to spend 25 years misunderstanding time. I know that I have memories of the last 21 years of my life, if not more, and I know just how faulty and self-creating memories are. I doubt their veracity but am uncertain where else to turn. I know I can't live another 25 years like this.  ¶ 2:17 AM