If I began an interior journey at the speed of light it would take me an eternity to arrive at the other side of my emptiness; and if I tried to fill my emptiness, I'd need a spigot so large it'd have to be turned by a hand the size of a planet and the torrent that would follow would be as though a single gnat would sweat a single molecule of water on a desert's burning surface. Now, what am I going to do about this. Like a fire raging through a forest that goes on forever, an all-consuming overwhelming voracious metastasizing longing, and what am I going to do about it?
