Nov 9, 2002


	I am a product of myself.  I have lived a life full of lust and leisure, and
am comforted by little.  I cannot see where the road is that I thought I was following. 
It is obscured by my habitual desires.  I have lifted off the reigns of liberty, and have
hoisted the yoke of self control.  Being as this is, I still feel a certain inkling to
return to the crossroads and choose a different path.  I envision this happening often. 
I look left, I look right, I look forward, and backward.  The decision lies not within
which road I take, but how I choose which seems to be the best or least destructive.  I
made my choice and so should you.  To stand at the crossroads only makes the sun closer
to the horizon, and less time to travel, even if the road one chooses is treacherous. 
Time traveling is doubly worth time standing still.  Time stands still as I wonder about
natural tendencies and how they affect my product.  I am a product.  But of what, I cannot
clearly ascertain.  I am a moment, we are all single moments frozen in time.  The moment
of our conceptions is what we are.  We carry with us for the span of our life the history
of that one moment in time.  When we die, the moment starts to fade, and when all those
that knew us well die, then that moment will be truly lost for all eternity.  Only Eternity
knows all the moments personally, greeting them as they arrive.  I am a moment.  A moment
in history, but why it is necessary for that moment to be remembered is beyond reasoning
for my humble intellect.  Perhaps it is true that we are the history books.  We are history,
therefore we perpetually transmit it forward in time, and it dies off what is not well
remembered by anyone more.  I am a death.  But a death of what I cannot be sure.  The death
of a moment in history seems to be the first answer readily available.  So maybe that is it. 
I am the death of a moment.  I am death, the product of a moment in time.  I exhibit again. 
I am death, the product of history, the product of love, the product of hatred, the product
of products of products of products of death of life of history.  I am a product of myself,
for myself and by myself.  I exist by my own right, the right of others to remember my tale,
by the right of all that perpetuates my insignificant life.  I am myself, the death of the
product of history.  I am.  Sum, ergo, sum.