Sometimes I just want to write for the feel of keys on my digits. When I breathe I feel Qi enter my spirit. When I drink beer it feels nice to let my mind wander. When I grind purple haze I wonder towards outer space. My favorite color is black because it’s the only one that isn’t one. When I look at competition I laugh about who’s declared won. Olympic athletes spend all their waking fights as a mode of purpose just for bragging rights. That’s hilarious in simplicity; global testosterone; coerced complicity. But, don’t worry, I’m the weird one in a sea of normalcy, when you look at me you see oddity in abstraction. You feel uncomfortable distraction. Neither of us knows why I keep forging my own path, but somehow I care beyond fair as a mindful empath. My luck seems indefinite and infinite, for some reason I care deeply for our shared society; if you ever meet me in either a drunken haze or flat sobriety – you’ll know I seek neither fame nor notoriety. You’ll see my goal is global cheer via communal morality.