perhaps one of the most motivating factors of life is the artful state of waiting; especially for that which shall never be achieved. i constantly find myself in a period of anticipation for what is to come. rarely am i satisfied by simple stasis. the cure for this discomfort is found in a stainless steel shaker, and poured gently through a stream of rocks. here ends my vagueness.

humans naturally desire to be bonded with those who are similar to themselves; though it is not uncommon for the same to crave the dissimilar. the predicament that is so frustrating is when one finds himself stuck in the category of not fitting into a specific category. that is to say that one finds himself neither lion nor lamb, neither vodka nor gin. instead he finds himself floating along in a classification of miss fits whom are rarely understood by either side of an argument or alignment.

i suppose there must be some danger in finding that fond likeness in another person. for this is when one ceases to search. he does not lift his eyes to the horizon, and he lays flat on the ground as he drinks from the stream. with his vulnerability at critical levels he can expect to be met with the striking blow of disappointment and rejection. a man has but only a limited amount of love to give while he is in the world, and unfortunately it is not renewable.

perhaps one day the man shall collide with another who is his balance. one who fears providence. one who does not justify but rather loves. but this is yet another dream of such fantastic proportions that it too shall never see an end.