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Not much to say I suppose... accept maybe... In the anthology of another briskly dulling star you might find a legacy not fore mentioned in the dreams for which we so desperately cleave; it is a legacy of work, blood, desperation, sadness beyond understanding and truth in a daily battle of bewildered goods and evils, bumping into each other like renegade molecules looking for answers for which there are no questions. And willing, with the vengeance of a thousand thoughtful failures, to cling desperately to the fact that nothing else matters in this space, in this time. They will destroy you for the love of this notion. How could I possibly have a legitimate perspective on this? I can't. No one can. It is a blind look into the darkest keyhole of the human heart, where fears turn to forgotten paths bravely traveled no more and beasts turned, true to their form, inside out to present a truthful betrayal of our deepest hypocrisies. Is change possible? If so, what do we change? How does someone who loves so little turn to love so much in a thing which can never in return love them back? AND what for this man, who is a boy through and through, looking for compassion and truth beneath the resting calm of another connecting soul who might venture out into the dark waters of the heart alone with him? Who can travel? A lap to rest the weary head and hands so often torn to bone and beauty. Collect me before I go mad, I beg of you. For I am that boy, and this is my nightmare. Find me a rest under your trees before I am slain beneath them. Choose or loose? Is that really a question? Or an answer... I also like movies and long walks.{}<> ..