Although that is an inevitability,
it is not in my immediate Life Design,
yet.....although a reason that I am rather hermetic is insulatory.....
Interaction between and among Humans is, by our Nature, stressful......
I am reading poetry today......the shorthand of prosaic sentiment....in which only the nakedness of creative interpretation is visible....Scraping the dried blood of poets from the cell walls of Memory late last night............re-reading Arthur Rimbaud's A Season In Hell and The Drunken Boat, a poem written when he was 16.... the 'time' in a man's Life when he either jumps his skin or collapses into it, like the shed integument of Michelangelo, falling from it's flat surface, far above us, unnoticed by those preoccupied with the touching fingers' meaningfulness.....
