“Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. You can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite[…]Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man’s importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates us to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.” – John Steinbeck
There were those who asked for my days, some found lost in my face, others demanded my word, but none took my demons besides you. Perhaps this is to say I’ve been sifting through all pouring forth from me like the great Yangtze River delta. It must be that I have within – a vast reserve – as I have yet to be eroded. Will you come to view the canyon it creates?
If at anytime I’ve begun to say too much feel free to use kisses to shut me up, I will appreciate it as you keep me from trailing off.
I don’t worry of such an event. I just keep churning, yesterday which was today, and tomorrow that shall join in, will all run unrestrained into my ocean of experience and become my history. Touch me; Taste me; That is my proof; I have yet to run dry – I’ve run up on shore, but I’ve always found myself afloat not too long after. It was always orchestrated anyways. I don’t do anything without knowing the cost to my character. I’m the fucking captain on this vessel, I’m the king, Yes, I put the crown on – but I don’t look down; Still I’m the king, anything that goes wrong comes out of my pocket. I’m responsible.
Don’t you know? Don’t you know? No one should have to tell you.