Mine own and my father's worldly insights,
Which we both have but have never been titled for--
As the artist's glasses we have are recognized only in the short recognition of those we meet every-day,
And that is all it needs--
Spur me to continue down two paths:
Those colourless brick-layed ones,
Followed by my forefathers in speaking out against malice
And evils as I come across them,
But also the new one
Which runs into grounds not even the insects have come into contact with,--
And resembles the impressionism I saw in my dad's paintings,--
And which is why I will brave the winds where the waterfall's power once overwhelmed me
As if I was touched by a god gently guiding me toward myself--
And so I affirm this life as it was granted to me by either the chance of the ineffable or the benevolence of something great.
God bless, everybody, whether he's alive or dead.