So I am an idealist who hates idealism; a practical man who hates the blindness of pragmatism, a poor hungry confused child who holds the stone in both hands while before him stands the cold reality that he is on his own if he wants to eat.

It has been a while, and now in the thick of things I stumble across my old creativity and wonder where the voices got buried.

Oh, I know where they got buried, and how; I buried them. For a good reason. I'm not an angsty teenager anymore, I tell myself; blogging is something that people did before twitter was invented and I'm really much too busy for this nonsense.

But I was busy even then, and the voices existed for a reason and that reason was to remind me that maybe my busy life is nonsense. Maybe the tight eyeballs, small meals, and lack of sleep is nonsense. Why do we do it? More importantly, why do we persist and bring that nonsense to the level we do?

Maybe it's time to thaw the zombie, folks.

Paper clip hearts in a chain to the moon

Paper clip hugs sweep me round the room

Paper clip love whispers a tune

With paper clip kisses under stars in bloom

Paper clip hearts in my pocket at night

Paper clip hugs round my waist hold me tight

Paper clip love round my heart glows bright

With paper clip kisses in the morning light