Books...

I've got several books on my desk open, some tunes blasting in my ears, a few sent messages I barely remember sending, and a brain full of ideas just waiting to be released...can you release me into the desires I once sought in solitude? Call it remembrance, or something else...poetics mean nothing more than this....

Cynicism...

There is no more cynicism when the mind realizes there is nothing beyond the now, forever, and the everafter...we chase our parallels into the mindless perils of tomorrow...our souls trippin' across the forevermore of infinity...time to breathe in the night air and wish we were nothing more than dust amongst the winds...goodnight / goodnight! (May we someday realize the parameters of infinity).