  An ineffible hunger.  I didn't eat today,  and when I began as such,  it was as if I was a starved prisoner of war for some years,  I could not be filled to capacity.  Later,
 of course,  my stomach will discourse upon that matter,  but as for now,  my appetite is only more whetted with each passing bite.  Today is March the second,  and outside lurks a cold,
 dark abyssia,  grinning its orai grin on a mass of powerless souls,  such a puissant species,  with so little power nonetheless.  We are devoured by our insolence,  have we no idea that this bitter and unending frost is of our creation?
 Two- hundred years ago,  at this very spot,  did the frostbitten winter months ever last this long?  Nay,  this cold is birthed by the womb of industrialization,
 a sadly necessary function of the new age of man,  the man that does not think and has his machines think for him,  the man that has forsaken love and home for his love of the world,  to the embrace of nothingness,  to that which shall never transcend the bonds of time,  he gives himself to wasted causes,
 to countries,  he serves the greater good,  which is,  of course,  no good at all,  because it is an idea,
 because society and government are ideas,  and as such are powerless to the quaking gods of existence and time,  of space and energy,  the creations of man are illusion,  and we are dust and shadows.  It is a strange fate to have hold of such power and to be so powerless,
 in the end.  What is after death?  Judgment?  And what,  then,  happened to your worldly concerns?
 Is it not,  that they vanished in a puff of smoke?  Is that not the glory of death,  the end of life,  the end of the painful and trying realm of mortality?  The darkness of these endless nights with their lopsided,
 hellish grins are beginning to consume all of us by the night,  as during the day the clouds enveloped not only sky but spirit,  it saw so many upon the verge of personal destruction,  it saw us a glum and powerless race,  a mighty fire cut short in a great rain,  only the rain took substance,
 and still the fire died.  And all of this,  just a reflection of the morosity I have seen around me,  the sorrow self- imposed by the seasons that have left us to be eaten by carrion death and dismay.  I watch it and see the sins of the fathers and mothers imposed on their young,
 simply by the fact that sin is let to exist in the world,  and there is no greater pain than watching that which is ourselves to writhe in torments so much greater than ours.  The sins take such wonderful guises and times to take us,  but they have.  Sin,  the black blooded vein that flows staight down our family trees and branches into all of us.
 For this to go on much longer,  as I have seen it.  God help us all.
