I remember something and yet I don’t.
Maybe. Did I do it, or was it just
a dream? In the dream, I remember some
places, but never the faces. I’ve slight
sight of the crimes but never the times. Help
me! I’m innocent. I think. At least by
reason of insanity. I mean I
must be if I’m talking to myself. Right?

What if all of this is just a part of
an overactive imagination?
Perhaps these are the deleted scenes from
a picture on the silkscreen. No! I must
turn them off: the crazy theories and the
ideas. Perhaps it can be done with
medication. But do I really want
it off? Might it drive me mad knowing I
can’t go mad? If only I knew the truth.

For the life of me, I can’t remember.