I write;I think;I know.

By the light of the new moon.

"I should think," replied my cat, "that handing out condoms during mass would be going a little too far."

"But on the whole," I asked, "as a concept."

"Certainly," agreed my cat, "such a change would be for the best."

"You two," said my other cat, "really do have the craziest conversations."

"Well thank-you," said my cat with as much sarcasm as she could muster, "I can't tell if he's listening now."

"So how do you think," said my other cat, "he's managed to stay hidden for so long."

"Honestly," said my cat, "I think he's been cheating."

"Cheating," said my other cat, "I seriously doubt it."

"He hides his true self in the unconscious," suggested my cat, "then causes his conscious mind to mirror the preconscious expectations of others."

"I wouldn't call that cheating," said my other cat, "I would call it a highly evolved sense of self-preservation."

"Perhaps," said my cat, "it's not as if he's ever tried to derive maximum benefit from it."

"It can't be easy," said my other cat, "when he's able to truly perceive the fear his true nature elicits within the mass consciousness."

"I'd like to hear," said my cat, "what those idiots who claimed we've nothing to fear from a surveillance society have to say when they discover there are those who are consciously aware of their ability to see into the darkest recesses of the minds of others."

"Given the surveillance society contributed," said my other cat, "to his waking up to the realities of his true nature, then 'oh fuck,' would probably be a good guess."

"It can't be easy," said my cat.

"It's not," I said finally, "there is, shall we say, a certain degree of feedback on the physiological level involved when realities force me to repress it."

"Oh Jesus," muttered my other cat as she saw the picture I was beginning to paint, "I suspect we've only just begun seen what's really been going on."

"Indeed," said my cat, "the guilty have a lot to fear right about now. "