Again, I take the inventory of me with brutal honesty weighing in the balance what the measure of a man should be, and with sound reasoning I have found that there has been progression, but in terms of significance it has been insufficient. Therefore, I must cast off the weight that pulls me down if I am to make my glorious ascension. I do not sleep because there is darkness, neither do I rise because there is light. There are no adherences to normality, for the eyes of the sorrowful are always heavy. Perhaps I have become vampiric in nature, awakening only because I need to feed — and because my heart is shattered, scattered among the harshness of weed infested infertile soil yet somehow I breathe. Ritualistically, Coltrane’s; A Love Supreme is my steadfast prayer; just before coffee with sugar and heavy cream, I silently shed heavy tears.