A man of good cloth is a man of wealth. Wealth reincarnated as fine silks and furs. In this case I am not a man of good cloth. I have never been all that concerned with the cloth I wear. Similar to my skin, I'd like to think that the dust could simply come off. Cloth is the last chapter in this section of my life story. Cloth is sewn by thread and ties up loose ends. It can be plain or extravagant; buttoned or frayed at the edges. Perhaps cloth is all of the above.

I like to think of myself as a good person. We all like to believe that our fellow humans are good people too. Unfortunately there is true evil out there in the world. Frankly, I am surprised at how morality has managed to survive. The goodness of people is often taken advantage of if the goodness seems to be habit-forming. The label of pushover is not a good one to have. Thus even goodness of heart must not be performed in excess. Nothing must be in excess.

At times I feel like I'm wearing cloth of heaviness, other times I feel like I'm wearing cloth of protection. In either case the cloth is not representative of the being. Thus this last chapter cannot be representative of everything encompassing. An autobiography never truly ends. Like all stories there is always some room for a continuation. Perhaps then I shouldn't call this the last chapter but a continuation chapter.

In the future I can't be certain about what kind of cloth I will be wearing. I'm not entirely sure of my current condition. The few things that are certain at this moment in time is that I have developed a psychology, yet this psychology is subject to change due to the fact that if one lives strictly by a set of rules he or she becomes a grotesque. On the other hand if there are no rules the individual becomes disembodied. Thus I live in the strange in between space in between worlds. I float in ether dust that doesn't exist and yet the fact of nonexistence doesn't affect me.

That is my story. Tell me a story. Tell me your story.