I wanna shake it. I want to shake it upside down until there is only silver showing. My Etch-a-Sketch History. I've made some great pictures, awful ones, and a boat load of mediocre ones. They're all on there. Some you can see, some you can't unless you can see through all the scribbles trying to cover them up. When I write, for example. When I write line that just miserably sucks, I scribble it out so no one can intelligibly read it. Sure, some forensic specialist could...those damn bastards...there is no wiping away. All evidence and effects are left behind. The ripple has been made. The scratch has been scratched, but I like to believe in my fantasy world.

My Lite-Brite Future glows warmly underneath my blanket-tunnel-fort. Full of hope, these are the best little lit up plastic pegs can offer. Not too technical. Just broad happy strokes of shiny goodness of my illuminated memory.

Wait...I'm just a crazy bitch. A cunt. A dick. An asshole. Wait...just crazy.

I want my fucking Etch-a-Sketch History and Lite-Brite Future! The internet can kiss it's history keeping ass! The corporate-power-banking-utilities-company are not gonna threaten me to pull my Lite-Brite plug!

Everyone repeat after me: "I want my Etch-a-Sketch History and Lite-Brite Future!"

Delusions once swallowed are real. At least 17% real...and that's all I need.