he hears murmurs. the wall itself is just thick enough to obscure the words, but porous enough to allow intonation's meaning to seep through. Misgivings, ambivalence, persistent disbelief in the possibilities of what lies ahead. he hears his own vision put to the test, feels the sound of his ideas being pulled apart, dissected, inspected for validity and soundness in the face of impending reality. this is the shadow of bright curiosity, the intrusion of logic and the apparently impregnable illusions of pragmatism in their relentless assault against weightless formations of unspoken dreams.

-

and how does one side lie to the other, anyway? inside one mind, it seems impossible. vague inclinations of unrest are much more disquieting, in some ways, than the inevitable war of symbol and meaning that such discontented whispers always precede and often predict.

"You sometimes have to perform a little lobotomy and cut people out of your mind or they will drag you down," Truman said by way of explanation.