Something

In my life, in my writing, I want only this: urgency. The urgency of a deeply-kindled purpose. When I am read or heard or felt, I want the onlooker to be--the in-looker.

For the highest honor is for each of one's gilded, scintillating utterances and each act bursting into bloom to be an overflowing, the generosity of inner abundance; rather than the scourged shell, the bad actor's mockery, the hidden shame--that is, need, boredom, laziness, etc.

So yes, poor logician that I am, I ask for the contradictory from life: the frantic pulse of self-creation, the lazy oblivion of inner wealth.