He gawked at the world’s obvious history…. Something revolutionary, something vintage, something Incan too…. And he came to realize that there is time to come.
There are days away from the spoils of his own history, which involve too many things that he couldn’t fix or make better… And he thought that he was fine, that he was wasting living by rambling thru only what was true.
So he cultivated fields of dreams and fantasies whereat to unwind, to undo his belt, recline in his car, forget about his creations, and breathe…. It was in the open road. Still. Quiet. Tranquil…. Eternity sold for a dense pause in the woody clarity of a lonesome road.
In many ways, he begin to share his story in a language that is currently silent…. It is only a starlit whisper…. And so when people would call him, he would begin to pace the…
View original post 173 altre parole