December 19, 2000: I don’t care what you see

My writing hand stops—not because I want to see how good I am. I’ve stopped because I don’t want to know what I’ve accomplished. Being employee of the year means nothing…until you realize that in every shadow there lays a piece of you. Take away that chunk of inspiration and the shadow itself…may not exist. Visions of what steps have been taken never haunt what seems accomplished. Inside this mind, I see an open field of brilliant white—it’s there that creative is born! Sadly, the rest of the world thinks I’m on drugs. I wear my hair long because of a wish to walk my own path. While doing so, I have to stop several times to explain my purpose of wanting to be different. My legs are strong, back is thick and arms capable of lifting darkness—each page turned is a moment already passed…at any moment it could all be gone.