Inspiration is a tawdry thing, always tempting me, and then running away. But I’m done chasing, and must wait, for inspiration to find me. I wait, spinning my web, and stringing out yarns, of incompatible stream.
Wasting time. Time that could be spent chasing a profittuitous dollar, wending and winding down,around the corner, and down a dusty road. What is the point of going on? I still don’t know, because I’m still deciding what aye want to say.
That doesn’t really matter now,because, now you’ve got time. The space is there, the power on , hope you use it well, because if you don’t,well, you lose it all.
Whatever.