GIVING FOR BLOSSOM
It's not like knowing the answers to every crucial
question here before me, but more like simply
understanding what an answer means - I don't
really know. You ask what drives me forward,
how I do it? I don't know. Every constellation
in my starry sky is not yet ranked and numbered,
not even named. Like a bad explorer, I trudge
numbly onward, hacking weeds and maybe
trees, but somehow maintaining a steady pass.
It's good enough for me.
-
There's a language in the words I use - that's a
lucky break for me. Otherwise my words would be
as meaningless to you as they'd be foul to someone
else. I like to muss them up, those feathers made
of money, pride, and greed. The Numbnuts Harrys
out there disagree, trying too hard to understand.
-
That's the way it goes - presented as a foil, a finger
in some dike, plugging leaks of fame and information
until I get it right. My mud house has not yet invented
brick; I still live amidst the soil of the old.
No comments:
Post a Comment