To feel this passion again, as natural as blood flow the electronic rhythm in a pen.
My fingers tap-tap, click-clack machine gun attack as my imagination blows away at this crazy syntax.
heading throbbing again mind flooding over again where is my pen?? where is my pen!!, over and over and over again....
This will be long, much like an over played song, but the vibe is there the rythm jagged but strong, undulating like a soca song, but so much farther along........I have to go in this written song.

Where does the fuel come from at the end of the day? so i say , so i pray....... the fuel to push along with each tumultuous day. Look around! everywhere is a mess! and civilizations are crashing down, half of them relaise even less seem to stress,
Not a political soul, but a humanitiarian? i would like to think.... as far as my darkness inside allows; unpredictablility in oneself and in what lies ahead, but headstrong enough to go through knowing its a must rather than a wasted doubt.

I think its time i lent my pen down another 40 days and 40 nights, all ten of my eager companions;i shall rest them now, so for another day lies more interesting tirades of unrest.

Sleep well my daughter sleep well my child. Daddy sleeps well knowing your right next to him sleeping tight in snug innocence, oh what a forgotten delight.