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I dreamt of Pilate again. I don't know what it is about him that causes this unrestful sleep. At once above and in thrall to a political coup, he did what he thought prudent. This mystery tires me, leaving the gate wide for insurgence.

This night, like so many before, is full of enemy faces, leering from the shadows. I sit with my face in my hands waiting for the blow. Do not disappoint me. Still, my limited expectations don't relieve me of my expectations and you should know this: I am not who you think I am. By the light all is well, but the wonders of the darkness swell and multiply faster than my sensibilities can predict. And, like Pilate, I will give in, forsake rest, walk away from the disparities and succumb to the will I will not.