There’s that merry-go-round question about why write I inevitably tripped on when it’d cross my path. Seemed like adequate answers or just a slice of an adequate answer rebelled against revelation.
But the walk to the store for a pack of the pleasure westerners have deemed most evil softened the resistance and an adequate answer might’ve exposed a nose. It isn’t that anger is a favored emotion to nurture.
It just seems so much of the world is bent on developing in one direction and it seems it’s always the direction I don’t want to go. Don’t know why. Life would sure be easier if the world would go a direction to a destination appealing to my appetites. Yet there’s nothing I can do when the momentum is large.
All that can be done is try to find a peaceful pocket off the beaten path. But it seems worldly poachers are hellbent on causing the few remaining pockets of peaceful existence to go into extinction.
So what’s a guy to do? Walking along to the store: walking briskly because it’s chilly. Rolling that question around. What’s a guy to do?
Ah! What a guy can do is create a world. And how can a guy create a world? Words. But then what? Well maybe someone out there will stumble on them and be glad they did. Maybe.