At the last minute before that final glorious flight, Icarus was chained, restrained from the sky and light and the fatal dreams borne on wax wings. Bound to cold reality, safe but a prisoner, he watched his father soar out over the sea, and screamed his loss after him. This journal is the record of a lonely Icarus, trapped in the real world, bound never to fly or know freedom save in the many and varied dreams written here. And while that may sound poncy as hell, I'm actually quite a nice, friendly person. I just have too many dreams for my own good.