This space has given me room for confession, from time to time. Confession for darkness inside myself, confession for sins, imagined or otherwise. Confession for disappointment to the state of things, the state of mankind these days, confession, all the same. Often, these confessions are to the space between my ears, the space bigger than that, the soul of a voice that rattles around my mind. Truth: It’s troubled from time to time, it’s a rambling mess of a thing, and I suppose being on the Autism Spectrum is partially to blame, but also it is quite simply the way I am built. There’s a line in today’s Typewriter Poem, “