Life is influx. The faces keep changing. Memories keep fading, while new roads we travel. i don’t see the future as clear as I would like to. I am like the blind beggar, wondering where my next meal will come from, will there be a meal, when I receive this masters. Will a phd put emily and i into a bind that we will ever recover from. Am i a thinker? an intellect? the kind of man like who like George Fox changed the world when he spoke? Am i the unsettling kind of person, who will disrupt the flow of the universe? Don’t i want to be? but what about creativity, which flows from my pores? which flows from all that i know, every open and closed door? not to over-estimate myself but i love to create and bring to life, i want to create a monster that moves counter to the flow for which humanity is sucked into death. I want my monster to reach out his hand, only to touch the dying, the poor, the hurt, and the young mothers weeping for their aborted children, weeping for their aborted fathers, and mothers and memories that were washed away with this rain of deceit, and greed, and capitalism and democracy, and nostalgic christianity that means bullshit. I want my monster to reach out with the hand of a mother and the face of a father, the heart of a lover and the words of a professor, with the strength of a construction worker and the softness of a nurse – with the breathe of life and the eyes of death – with the purity of Jesus and the blood of pilate. This monster will be friend and foe, like Christ is to me, and all the people i know. understanding that life is here and there, moving to and fro, to the depths of pain and discomforts to the pleasures of rest and warm fires. Though i hate that i only see through this window into the cold southern california rain, and see no further than my own troubles, i realize that there is hope and that my Life is influx.