Purpose; a few thoughts

For there comes a time, when each man must choose his path, when he has been given another chance to do so. 

I will prefer books to be my friends, the raindrops, my radio and all the world my home. For what joy is there, what satisfaction is there, when your rhythm is made offbeat by some, though unknowingly, when it rings your ear drums, like screeching tires, like wild fires, not like the waves greeting the shores, lapping them with love. What is the purpose of existing, of living for them and not for you? 

Now, I am intoxicated, suddenly, I am in a trance, like my ancestors, I imagine, were, connecting with inner self, with inner purpose, and now, I am thrusting, deep, deep, incessantly, into the sweet depth of what writing is, to me.

I must be faithful to her, to impregnate her with my seeds, so they can blossom, so when I am no longer here, you will eat of my fruits.