I haven't moved this thing in a very long time.

There's something fantastic about the visual arts, in whatever form they be, but now, as I age, as I change, as I develop and renew and start again, again, again, I'm realizing that it's never been my artform. It's sad, really, and how I long for it, for the easy in and out of color and form and shape and design, but I find now that my comfort, my desire, my fantastic ability lies not in the color or form or shape or design, but rather in the text, in the words, in that which transcends between the aural and the visual, that is to say: writing.

But much like every man that sits on the earth and lusts for the birds, here I am, an earth-bound mortal in a world of flight.