I stagger towards the pull, overestimating desire in geometry. I stagger sideways, ear first… it is my hearing that has been captivated. A natural force… a sound flittering over the kingdom of silence. Significance disintegrates… crumbling… little pieces that had been so smoothly tied together, had felt like proper packages of life. They separate unceremoniously. There is no exchange of pleasentries, or curses… The neat concentric circles of comprehension crumble too, as sound spirals out, like a wounded wolf in an overcast night of the moon. A force of nature… If there is an overestimation of dersire here, I couldn’t care less. Geometry is for paper… for paperizing the world…. My hearing is being held prisoner by this sound that flitters over the kingdom of silence. I cannot not listen.
In the end all you want is a pen that writes well and a life that you've lived well.
Story Of The Footloose 