Alan is right

To some degree I am blessed by the absence of a personal (love) life, as it means I am producing written and recorded material at an absurd level. Inhuman.

Certainly inhumane, even.

That doesn't mean I don't want to slow down, or even stop for a season...I can feel the fuel within me burning up and burning out, as I consume the emotions I have stored, like some hypergolic melding of my blood and my intellect.

Interesting, from an intellectual aspect. But, ultimately, disturbing. Would I trade the writing of a poem for a kiss? Yes. Would I barter my talents for the love of a woman (or at least the illusion of love that I have so often accepted as love)? Most likely.

The next few months and weeks shall tell the tale and pop the sail and rend the veil.

I am unrepentent of my talents. But sorrowful at my isolation. The wounds of betrayal are healed, but the hesitancy remains to step into the light again.

I am ill-equipped to fight my own nature. Having lived my life as champion, I find myself in need of rescue.