I walk days into the cities until the sad man shouts within the belly of my festering, backwards institution: "Hate me for the songs I can not sing."

If you walk long enough you will begin to see everyone you know, passing you, not looking at you passing, voyer-platonic you see.

A ghost begins skipping trees, branch to branch. Tried and true I send to you my best wisdom: defeat the peace and don't overstep your heros.