Release

It's funny. I go weeks upon weeks, stumbling around in my own mind, half drunk, but with no particular need to put pen to paper. No calling for that excruciating release. And then one day the wind tastes different, salty-like, and the clouds come rushing in with orange intensity, and its all I can think about. I think maybe in another life I was a kleptomaniac, because on days like these I just want to possess the world, spirit away the reflection of days, stuff moments in my pockets, make off with city blocks, mine, mine to keep. Weird, huh? It's liberating, like being turned on- whatever the antethesis of dormacy is. God, I'm out of practice. To hell with the erudite. Too often life interupts, intercedes on my behalf, and I never keep hold of the chance. Or my guilty conscience noses me back towards the "right" direction, and thats the end of that.

Well, presently, I'm off to put a dent in the world. Convictions and all that. I've coerced myself into volunteering for Russian Social Services. And thus, today begins another grand adventure.