I didn't really have sex with your mother.

I didn't really have sex with your mother.  I only told you that because I knew that the image of your mother in the act of coitus, no less with me, would offend your sensibilities.  It was meant as a joke, you see? An attempt at levity, albeit at your expense, but be fair, you've taken a shot or two at me in the past. I know now that it wasn't funny.  The guilt has weighed me down these past years: the devastating lie I told--the brutal laughter that followed.  You tried to laugh it off too, but I could tell that you never let it go no matter how hard you tried to pretend that it meant nothing, that you'd forgotten.  So now, I come must clean.  When I said I fucked your mother, it wasn't true. I am so very sorry.  I don't expect you to forgive me, but perhaps now I can die without shame.

Neuroses

I am severely fucked in the head.  It is a sign of superior intelligence. I take comfort in the fact that in this I am in good company.

Emergence

I exist in my mind—it is there, within, that I created myself, and there alone that I dwell.  I am a product of my own imagination. To you, I am manifest in these words, and through these words, I enter your mind and exist therein but briefly. For you, I cease to exist at the end of this sentence.