I can’t get these forsaken whispers out of my head. I can’t sleep. Whenever I try all I can do is try to make out what the words are. I need distraction. I need noise. I need activity.
“ph’nglui mglw’nafh… wgah’nagl fhtagn…”
I keep hearing it over and over. Pure gibberish. There is no meaning to what I keep hearing. It is of no language that I know of. Just utterances of sounds. Going to make an elixir.
If I squeeze my eyes closed hard enough, I can almost see something.
I may as well write about my complaints of Cheliax society.
The women who take husbands not out of love but out of greed, to get their bills paid, to get a fine house and clothes and jewels; the women who marry to get out of a tiresome job, or to get away from disagreeable relatives, or to avoid being called an old maid — these are whores in everything but name. Not every woman is a prostitute, but isn’t prostitution is the natural apotheosis of the unintellectual?
I adore women, real women. Not these whores. Whores bring out the worst in men. Whores that are flaunting their bodily assets suppress the thinking person. Emotion takes over and leads to impulse. Whores… they got to go.