Huh?
Who am I? I am a man, a writer, a poet. I am a father, and at one time, I considered myself a husband. I am the son of four great parents, who, in turn, were the children of others. I am a Pagan, I worship the Goddess and the God. I am a person trying to make it in the world that I love. I am a heart-breaker, for, I have no knowledge of what kind of love suits me. I am at a loss for words.
What do I do? I write and write and write, trying to fill the empty void that is my existence. I read books about all subjects. I write my thoughts on what I read. I try to teach the world my philosophies in an attempt to make just one person happy, whoever that shall be. I worship my Divinity with what I try to make pure love in my heart.
Where am I now, and where am I going? I am here now. The title of this place is not necessary. I am there now. The latter remains the same as before. I am going somewhere, as we all shall, eventually, and more than likely, eventfully.
Why am I here, writing this? I write and write and write because that is what I wish to do. Perhaps it is my preemptive gateway to my own thamatology. Strawberry fields forever.
When is it? When is what?, I ask myself. When will this be finished? I'm sure you can figure out the pattern now. When is but a solitary question encompassing a certain type of rhythmic referencing tool created by man. When? is not important, for, it constrains you and I to time.
How has this come to be? I have closed my eyes and began to write, and on the tablet in front of me are scribbles of some other nature. Perhaps my subconscious reaching out to captivate my senses, perhaps not. I give way to the impossible.
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