Have you noticed how most problems look bigger when you’re close to them? I mean, when you take a step back and really look at the problems, examine them from the proverbial 10k feet, the problems shrinks like the farmland as seen during takeoff, until there’s not many problems left. Everything finds its time and, in the end, its course. Now, some problems grow with the distance, and when I say grow, I mean exponentially, huge increases with modest distance gains. It’s these problems that have eyes, these problems that see what you’re doing—the stepping back—and take that into account and manage to warp space around you by piling other problems on top of the original, narrowly described problems, until you’re so overloaded that the tiniest straw, well, you know where I’m going with this. You have to be wary about the problems with eyes. They’re always watching and waiting. It’s no good stepping back or holding forth. You have to dive into the details and chop the heads off the details. Sure, you’ll end up surrounded by mounds of decapitated heads, but you’ll blind the eyes, and blind eyes can’t see what you’re doing with all that stepping.

Far is where I’m heading on the lonely roads of nowhere. Why do the chairs bark and the lights blink? It is early and I throw down thoughts on the page because that’s what thoughts do: throw down and move in certain directions even if that direction lacks a destination. I reach for the release valve and yank. I don’t care what oozes forth.

I rise above it all and hope to see something to fruition. The fruits don’t bloom and I worry that nothing will remain. I revel in my historical facts and can’t find where the new historical future begins. I work and worry and rise above what is not there.