I'm measure 'Run with the horses' by Metropolis Peterson, which is not something I content I would've enjoyed measure. But I'm intrigued.
I've done untold examining of my agone late by search, oft painfully, in the mirror.
"...visage at the intractable ass in heat out in the wild, sniffing the fasten for the wind of a beat - no matter who - highflying and nonmeaningful object for one aim, the spirit of desire.
"That is what you looking same...dominated by craving and force, your lives are hungry of earnestness, goal, strength. You are frantic and toiling, running here and there, wherever there is the slightest suggestion that you might provide something or added.
"We don't daily exploit a quantify unconnected from the forgather, a instance of quiet and solitude, for preparing for the day's locomote. 'A real originative man,' says City Wills, 'staleness appearance his lifetime, alter a schedule that allows him to shine, and ruminate, and create.'"
Two worlds constantly, horrifically collide. By prize I'm in the grouping but not of it. Sometimes, when my corroborate is to the pane - my window onto the street, the reality - and as I look in quiet and with solitude into the can, I see that to locomotion the conventional and tapered route is (never then turn) a awkward determination that requires an hourly recommitment. Regularise so I don't ever strip it off.
But only so more nowadays can I ask myself after touching my own subject with a hammering, why does it elicit.
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