A vision of something else. A vision of something more. How the years have rolled by like thunder. How they’ve got behind me like a thousand faces with names I can’t remember. Love comes and goes. Feelings and sensations lost like money in a bar on a crowded Saturday night. All that alcohol. Those myriad bottles of wine. Those dreadful hangovers, and the not so unpleasant ones too. Days, weeks, and years. Places I’ve been where my shadow still lingers. The words and ideals that occupy my heart even though so much has happened in between. Books on my bookshelf covered in bookish dust. Thoughts stagnating whilst I tried so hard to get back to the beginning. Not depression in the medical sense, but one that flows in the blood. A birthright. A signature of what it is to breathe in the desert of the real. Feel the electricity in my fingertips. Watch as the words burn on page one. Another three hundred or so to go, but these things take time. If they don’t, then I’m not doing it right. Honey in my mouth, and war in my chest. Be ugly. Be dirty. Cleanliness is ordinary. It reeks of conformity. Don’t pretend, just be. No magic formulas, only gut instinct. Belief in the absurd. Trust no one. Stop masturbating so much. Look at more pretty girls in the sun. Eat more greens, drink less beer. Don’t be so cruel, stop being so hurtful, even though it looks good on paper, it’s a sign of self disgust. Alive with words, I am what I am. These callous hands, so eager to inflict. This tired old man, born to deceive as well as to implode as silently as a ghost. Like a duck I appear so gentle, yet underneath it all I’m imploding like desire on a first date. Sex sells, and it sends us on a one way ticket to hell. But hell isn’t to be feared, it’s what we all want, one way or the other.