Good thoughts bear good fruit, bad thoughts bad fruit.

Imagine if these words mean everything. Would you approach this activity differently? Would you expect more from it? Fine, poet, let's say it is: These words mean the world. These words mean the world. These words mean the world. No one is watching you. No one is judging you. (What will you do?) What will you write about? About the sadness in your heart about woman, about music? (No, that's redundant). No time for poetry except for what is. Keep trekking forth except this time more wisely, and humbler, capture their feelings and don't miss, wiser, I have a question. Why am I doing this? Because you have what it takes, and when you write, you seize a moment, a feeling. What you do is discover evidence for our living, you discover evidence of human happiness, and suffering, smiles, the wind, friends, mothers, food cooked by someone who loves you, oceans, coming and going, coming and going and never returning, harps, hearts, dogs, mice, cats and even lions, gazelles and apes, flying objects, turtles, dying people ... evidence materializes everyday, but only some people captures them and almost everyone enjoys them. Board a boat. It's time to move on, away from why you write and closer to writing.

My pen is a razor. I use it to slice the night sky, and the second before appears before me, and I think this is swell, so I slice again the night sky. Another second prior appears, and I do it again because it feels great. And I use both hands, slicing away at the night sky and time unfolds before my eyes and I watch myself living backwards, and as I slice the night sky rapidly and watch myself as I live my life backwards, I realize I make no mistakes (there is wisdom behind my deeds) and also as I cut through the night sky like fabrics, time becomes thinner and the sun behind it begins to leak out. The fabric comes to an end and it is all light. I cannot see because it is too bright. And because I cannot see, I cannot locate my body. I cannot find my body, but I know I am here because I am aware of my thoughts. I am here. What am I if I can't see myself? (I have nothing to tell me that I am still who I was). But my thoughts are intact thought I cannot see them. I feel my actions and repeating the actions will get me to where I need to get (and I do not know just where that is).

Not knowing where you're going does not mean you're blind. You are here. Whether or not you can see today because of the light or whether or not you cannot locate your body, your thoughts are certainly intact. They are indivisable, unable to break.

You drape a new fabric over the light. You drape another fabric over the light. You keep doing this, moving faster and faster. The bright light becomes dimmer. Now you can see your body again. Your hands, arms, chest, feet, leg — you feel your face — you are assured of your own presence. You are satisfied at this moment. You begin to walk forth, with no place in mind, but certainly there is a destination and it is your habits — those patterns that you pursue. You have covered your thoughts for comfort — for what you know, and you stride forth in a leisurely gait. You are walking forward, but you are moving backwards — you are moving away from your thoughts until one day you've moved to far and you declare that there never was such a thing, such a concept as the "sun," as the "light." Your thoughts are nicely bundled up inside the fabric. And like that, the sun dies, and your thoughts are made inaudible, and in no time, you too will follow.