You attract more flies with honey than with vinegar, but how many flies do you attract with your most beautiful work of art? And for that matter, why are we attracting flies in the first place? For the spider caressing my cranium? If my soul existed, I would describe it with some nice metaphors. But instead I'll describe my lack of soul. If it were a picture, it would be a black-and-white charcoal drawing of a single tree in the middle of a wasteland with glass fruit hanging from its gnarled leafless branches. There'd be mountains in the background and lots of gleaming and rusted junk strewn about the foreground. The perspective would be low, set near the base of the tree, looking up at a bit of an angle. Somewhere near one of the corners, there'd be a fallen piece of glass fruit with a reflection of a hand reaching for it. Yeah, if my lack of soul were a picture, that's what it'd look like. I keep choosing loneliness. Just like I can never stay relaxed during Aikido. Wish. The chrome-selected fiberglass word-cage strikes back with a vengeance. I don't know which eyes are even open anymore, let alone odd closed. I've been casting about looking for something not to hold on to, but everything that passes through my fingers invariably strikes within them the reflex to clasp. Cognitive fibers, the