It's clear, it's as clear as crystal, it's as clear as a clarion call, whatever that might be, something straight out of fiction, something that was only ever imagined, like the angels and the satyrs, spun out of tales from the fabulist's web and thebunrepentent liar's neverending yarn, as home woven as the nearest senator, but tall as the tallest tale is to the nearest tower. In other words full of bravado, false candor and sacks upon sacks of lies, you only ever bite because you only ever want to believe. It's in our very natures, even the most deeply ingrained cynic repudiated because at one moment or another someone, certainly someone, kicked the magic from beneath his feet, her feet, their feet. And every breath got a little more calculated, mystery gets relegated to fraud, and god gets dead, again, and when you are not paranoid you get willfully ignorant.

Fall into rhythm, deviate not, wake, sleep, eat. Sex where it can be had. Go to work, clock the clock. Don't laugh, don't get lost, don't get lost in someone else, don't cry, please don't cry, just go, just go on, just above the fog, but not quite in the sunlight, maintain stasis.

No.

No.

Ok, I might take the sex where it can be had, but I am on the move now, and there will be no stasis. fuck the chysalis, I am already a beautiful butterfly (referencing a bug's life) so back the fuck off with your velveeta. In two and a half minutes I am going to sprint for my sheets. In a day I am going to sprint to dinner with the engineer, where he will render unto me what is mine, and I will sprint from dinner to render unto me my obsidian fortress of solitude.

And the truth is that I am ready to go now. Not just him, and it's not surrender, but I am ready to go, to go anywhere.