I'm here among the shadows of past dreams, reading a poem by the long gone William Blake:

"...Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the Forests of the Night
What mortal hand or eye
dare frame thy fearful symmetry..."



Well, there are so many things I would like to be
so many things I would like to do
and it's late into the night again
doing nothing
but being everything...

I'll be here

maybe...