On a journey for eight months to find the truce within myself. Shadowed by the spirit of Primo Levi to keep pushing fatigued legs whenever the function of doubt starts to cramp a divine faith, weaken a rich legacy and threaten to give way sanity to the ferocious frustrations of failure. A sentiment I share with every young lad I pass along the way, who processes the idea of hope just as aggressively as the lot of us, but can't seem to push pass the barrier of "I can't do this." Strong will can be just as elusive as the creature Bigfoot, but just as attainable as drugs are in prison. I guess the intervention is, we must become addicts for hailing history, fiends for the high of discipline and not that junk called excuses.
The tide may wash away your castle, but it's just sand. Soldier the storm, like a captain at sea leading the fleet. What's in the horizon is yours, but only if you believe it can be reached. Put it all to the wind, and sail clear of those Moby's trying to swallow your soul because the big catch is always what's on the end of your line and not what's in someone else's net.
