I've been restless.
Torn down.
Ripped from the edge of the universe from which I sat, Looking back out to This great blue rock a-floating and twirling with grace.
Only to that certain eye, could it be satisfied.
I've been shaken loose of my Fantasies.
Those imbecilic thoughts, void of reason or roads.
I have been killed a thousand times in your names, those names.
Crawled across picture-esc landscapes of plastic.
Frontal assault on my character, left blistered by phantom shrapnel, called words.
Shouldn't it be time already?.
Am I ready, already?
Perhaps....Only with ticking of moments shall I find out.
Garrett Johnson.
Been a while. too long now.
I think I now know what it means to write.
To be one who writes. Why one writes.