It's not the fare of newspapers. This is not the target of muses but it is my LIFE. Not since the day evolved around solely me, have I found superior outlet than the labour of writing.
The singular moment when ideas hit page gives voice to the volumes unspoken in utterances. It is the silent wish that we each must hold that our words and views be absorbed by others. That single hope is but amplified as we each, again in the silence of our 'unrewarding', seek permanence of our unique being. If the cellular specificity that conceived us, wards off demise...so far...and some energy force brings these lines to the light of day [or night] and the consumption by someone somewhere....let us taste the hooray of our aspirations MET.
Of course, beyond that basic harmony of intent and merit, I would that the thoughts and ideas but not only devoured but nudged and further shaped by that priceless tool...Another's responses.
It is the lack of such which my void fills! Alas...Whither is a soul to poke upon my soul's surface, meat or matrix?
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