It is the sound that wakes in the middle of the night, the sound that blocks out every bump in the night, every thing else--the white noise of my dreams. Running through my head, the mania will not stop. Images flash at one thousand miles a second, pulse pounding--a marathon runner. No control of it. My calling is upon me, my mission is to write. There is no mistaking, there is no escaping. The head frequnency that blocks out all the others is this, I am attuned. Creativity is the god...let me be the priest...let us pray. Bow your heads--for only the guilty can be left behind-the ones that did not head the call, their talents now squandered. The White Noise of the Dream, the grey matter of the brain, are yours--use them as you will, use them as you might, or forever let them be lost to you. So sayeth the Source, so sayeth the flock. It is the intensity of the sound of my future.
-posted by Nobius 11:03 AM 