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I edited my profile with Thomas' Myspace Editor V4.4:i want you to notice when i'm not around:There is something I want to, need to tell you. There are many things I feel I need to tell you. And this is why I am writing this, because you need to know. You need to know about the throbbing in my head, the pounding, pulsing, damn near impossible to ignore sensation that continues. It never sleeps. I need you to know that I am here, there is a person like me, I’ve got your back. You can count on me to look in the crevices of the world, I’ll pick through messy gray area. I’m looking for the unseen, I’ll find it. I need you to know that there is someone out there watching your back, it’s me. I’m picking at my skin to quiet the pulsing, this vibration coming from inside. And out. I feel it. Do you? I’ve been walking around lidless since I was a child. I never could look away, or look at the surface for that matter. I blinked too fast, I could never miss anything. I never got to have those fractions of a second of closed eyes every so often. I could never add up the time I had spent blinking, the accumulation of minutes of eyes shut per day. I didn’t have the luxury of these blind breaks from the world. I think you should know this. I think you should know that I lived through the stinging, my eyes so open. I’ve fallen through the agony and come out awake. I see things, I see things you may not see. Understand this. And with this understanding, I want you to know that I have come to many conclusions about things. My time in this waiting room between deaths has chalked me full of ideas and concerns. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t even want to know. I do know that stuff stuck. My head has become like a meat market, full of hanging carcass, many rotted and useless, others plump and enticing. I pin things everywhere inside. It all gets stored. And so I want you to know that as I pick these pins out one by one, you may get pricked a time or two. If blood shows, stop. If it smarts a little, continue. I don’t want to mutilate observers, I just want spots of feeling. Drops of anger or intrigue or understanding. I just want a reaction. I want to know that I think negatively of most of you. I want you to know that I doubt your ability to understand, and your ability to listen. I doubt your ability to care. I believe in your ability to be apathetic. I believe in your ability to be bored. I believe in your ability to trade me in for a Cosmopolitan magazine. I challenge your ability to absorb. I challenge your ability to wonder, to think. I challenge your ability to disagree and ponder. I challenge you to read. Welcome to my head.