Untitled - July 14, 2001 It is with great irony that almost a year to the date of the first time... There is no rest for the weary, there is no rest for the wicked, it is an unending struggle for internal peace. The moment that I hear her voice - it is a grating harshness that booms. An endless struggle for silence An endless struggle for solitude that protects me from the torrent of words. Who I am, what I wear, when will I die?