Sometimes you try to become like others, but it’s just not you. They want profession. It’s all they’ve ever been told. To succeed, to chase the coin. But you’ve never felt that way; it’s never been of any interest. Maybe it’s self-obsession. Ego. Call it what you will. To me, life has always been about two things. The first, finding love; the second, leaving a footprint. Not the footprint of earning money and climbing the corporate ladder, but an artistic one. Not giving into the whims of the masses, but seeking a vision that has never been glimpsed. In such a quest, you’ll lose relationships, and people will think of you as strange for taking such an approach to life. They’ll say you could do so much better- but you’ll want none of it. In fact, you’ll purposefully avoid it, just so you don’t give in. You end up becoming confused, though. You think it’s not worth it, that maybe it would be easier to bite the bullet. But then, through the wreckage of yet another invisible war, you know it’s a path that has to be walked. Maybe one day, you’ll laugh in their faces. Maybe your books will sell, or perhaps you’ll die penniless, considered by many to have been a wasted talent. The only thing that matters, however, is staying true to who you are. To not sacrifice yourself to please others. Your views could be considered foolish. Something you say to make yourself feel better. Something to keep away the awful truth. There are days when you’ll do anything to distract yourself from putting pen to paper, but eventually you fold, and the words pour. And they don’t just pour, they piss. And everything makes sense. To be honest, to be truthful. To fight. And then there’s love. And love is even more of a fuck up than writing. It turns your stomach and leaves you weak. It makes you puke; it reduces you to a shadow of yourself. But all you can do is follow your heart. There’s no structure to it. There’s no map. It will hurt, and if it doesn’t, then it’s not worth it. You’ve felt it so many times. It doesn’t even have to be for the love of someone you want to be with. Sometimes it’s for someone who elicits those feelings by the merest of touches. One day, you see someone lonely, just like you. Reaching out, you say hello. Startled, they don’t know what to do, and then they smile. It’s the smile that does it. And to know that you made that smile. It makes you want to cry. To touch the lives of those around you. To bring them a little warmth. That’s what it is. To make people feel like you wish you did. But then there’s ‘Love’. The one that grips your heart, that stops you in your tracks. It’s more deadly than a gun, more potent than any poison. Some never find it, some let it slip through their fingers. Some never let it go. I’ve tasted it so many times, and it’s broken me more than anything else. But even as a child, I knew that love would mean the world to me, that it would come above everything else. I knew I’d much rather be poor and in love than be rich and loveless. Even before I knew the meaning of money, I knew the meaning of love. It hurts, it makes you delirious. It reduces you. But if anything can save you, then it’s love. It’s everything you should ever be. No one should believe what I have to say. I’m mad, and I’m lazy. I drink too much; I’m lost at sea. But as long as the words keep coming, then it’s okay. Love and footprints. It’s my manifesto. It’s what sets me apart from all those machines that think they’re free. Keep breathing, and keep with me through the thick and thin. It’s all that I can give.