A Man Needs A Purpose For Real

Everyone Knows Of The Talking Artists. Throughout All Of The Known History Of The World They Have Gathered In Rooms And Talked. They Talk Of Art And Are Passionately,almost Feverishly, In Earnest About It. They Think It Matters Much More Than It Does.

The Fruition Of The Year Had Come And The Night Should Have Been Fine With A Moon In The Sky And The Crisp Sharp Promise Of Frost In The Air, But It Wasn't That Way. It Rained And Little Puddles Of Water Shone Under The Street Lamps On Main Street. In The Woods In The Darkness Beyond The Fair Ground Water Dripped From The Black Trees.

It Is No Use. I Find It Impossible To Work With Security Staring Me In The Face.

There Is This Thing Called Life. We Live It, Not As We Intend Or Wish, But As We Are Driven On By Forces Outside And Inside Ourselves.

I Am Constantly Amazed At How Little Painters Know About Painting, Writers About Writing, Merchants About Business, Manufacturers About Manufacturing. Most Men Just Drift.