What if the snow kept falling and didn't stop. The eternal ice age. We need variety. We need the warmth. We need variety. We need the snow.

So mixed between skin filled with left over anger and skin moving onto a next phase of being. I want to paint. Draw, design a life. Creatively. So why don't I. In a way I have, I do. It is often my way of presentation. But I need to do it with purity and not bitterness. No spite. Carefree has been effective at times. Then other times, carefree is careless and left open to abusers. I've resigned to not figuring things out. I just wish others did too.

Why do I get angry and annoyed at citing? Everyone wants there name next to a set of words as though they are the first ones to ever say them. There names next to a set of ideas as though they are the first ones to ever have them. I guess I just don't believe it's so. I don't believe we are so great to have grand ideas and fabulous sequences of words. I believe all the ideas and words were here long before we were. I believe we merely take turns remembering them, finding them, returning their voice. The credit is that of the Earth, or that of God for those that swing that way. All quotes, ideas, patents, copyrights don't really belong to any of us. The absurd profits made off such things make me nautious. Have I spelled that word correctly? I rarely do. It is a word I'm accustomed to experiencing, but somehow infrequently write correctly.

Correctly. Who gets to decide those terms?