Of sheeps and birds We wander on yet perish none the less A part of us might live on inside the present to be the future As if a time bomb has caressed Only we know not the limits to our venture Like a roach of a burnt joint Is life like Useless to that point That it might still be preserved to a lunatic's delight But I for one, like them flying birds More so lonely than in a flock or a heard If sheep are stupid, birds are too Life is nihilist, all the cheers are 'boo'.
A very brief accounting of my life, work and other.