I know of no man who is completely different from me. I own commonality even with my enemy. I find it there, deep, sometimes hidden, but never missing, in his humanity.  

For the sake of love I suffer much, and say “my pleasure”. I mean it.
Sometimes it is harder to mean than others, but i mean it.

Ah, when we come to the moment of the shattering of the mind, so many are afraid to fall off of the precipice. But friends, sometimes, a little insanity is the remedy. It is not the breaking of your reality, it is being freed from a cage you never knew you were born in.

I was not inspired by some grand thing that only i could grasp. I was inspired by bits of simplicity and truth that can be touched by any living person. And perhaps more so the dead.

Have you ever seen a normal person? I , for one, have not.
Everyone is strange.

Tonight i step from boxed in room to balcony. I spy the moon, and i understand that it has missed me. I have missed it much the same. And i do not wonder, but i know, that it is but a sliver of the way that i have missed you . You are more to me, even than the moon. Were it not for the moon, i would be lonely tonight. Were it not for you, i am not sure if i would be, but if i were, i would not be me.


I wonder if it isnt true that every act of love carries the risk of betrayal. And  for that weight is more beautiful. Perhaps some would call me an enabler, but i am simply a lover.

I am hungry. Much in the way malnourished children are hungry, and widows are hungry, and  every man is hungry. There is ever a hole in me, but ever is it being filled. I find this to be but a single blessing of eternity. I am sure that there are many more.  

Everything may recede into chaos, but my heart climbs to bliss. Everything may descend toward death, but it is to life i rise. Every moment may pass by as but a breath or a vapor, but a lifetime is worth living if it is lived rightly.  It is the summation  of those fleeting moments that become something of signifigance. Whether to ourselves or to those who we brush by in the ephemeral.

It is not over. It is never over, but it is finished. Complete since completeness knew itself. It, or he, if you so please, has no beginning, no end.

Welcome, to the grandest of adventures. Only wait and see and you will think  of me as a liar and of this as my lie. Go, do, and you will know me as truthful, and this as my truth,

I would say that thoughts assault me. But smoothely they do glide over my skin. They shrink to  encapsulate and caress, they slide into place and there come to rest, not weighty but tasty, and light, filled with opposite ends of worlds, and outlines that spin dreams, of families, and futures, and cute little girls with freckles and ginger curls.