...I know something...I know something, but expression of it comes so hard, No!...I cannot...I would like to give up, yet I have the feeling of boiling and rising, a tickling, which may drive you mad if you do not express it somehow, for I do not gloat over my own person, I did not get all hot wrestling with my soul in a darkened room; I have no desires, save the desire to express myself--in defiance of all the world's muteness...how frightened I am, how sick with fright, but no one will take me away from myself, and now I am losing some thread, which I held so palpably only a moment ago...where is it? it has slipped out of my grasp, and now I am trembling over this lexia, fingers drumming on the keyboard, hunching over to conceal myself from the door through which a piercing eye stings me in the nape, and it seems I am right on the verge of deletion...