whenever those occasional cathartic days come when I conclude this writing and poetry and all was only a grand illusion into which I so glibly entered and gobbled all the self-delusion goodies all the tables offered, I come to my senses or the truth comes cautiously closer, and I remember what it is that attracts me to the world of words, and there are many attributes of attraction to the world of words, but the lead attractions would have to rotate around a centrality that explores the concept that goes to the effect of: that which I would and will not do doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to, or to flip that, just because I’d like to ____ ____ doesn’t mean I would or will. There is an awareness that the reality would not be as beautiful as the belief in the attraction.
So there is this place the imagination can go where so much can happen that will not ever happen in real life. And the place has many a work shed where many tools await mastery and there’s something about trying to re-create what an imaginary act or series of acts suggests and it might be my favorite place that is not of this world. Now how is that for pretension? But it’s true.