More action. Less thought. I think too much. Analysis paralysis. It’s encumbering, the weight of thoughts. I need to toss my load, discard the ancillary thoughts accessorizing the inner penetralia of my mind and start living with a purpose, with a design drafted by my own sovereign will, by that elusive daemon lurking beneath the folds of my exterior, hiding amongst the chaotic turbulence generated by the fire inside, the same illuminating passion that spews fire and brimstone onto the world as I gaze upon it, as I peel back the superficial veneer that distorts appearances with its opaque finish; the same pulchritudinous passion that ignites the lifeless dregs settling at the corners of experience, dragging along the bottom: incinerating uncertainty, irradiating doubt.

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