I will write in this place tomorrow, I will!

Awake in the morning, so that I may clothe this nude babe!

Awake in the morning, so that I may toil for the bossmaster. “Yes, sir! Yes!”

And return to my loft and drip ink onto fine paper!

. . . to be transcribed here, on this space-y space fabric. Yes, sir! Yes!

And now the bossmaster calls. Can you hear him call? Coo-coo! Coo-coo!

Away, away!

Away I go, sailors and little children–!; to that special place where Father can’t be heard yelling; to that sleepy place were stars are born and born.

*   *   *

“When you have grown to a point in your life when you may utter to me, ‘You were correct all along!’” wrote the Philosopher, “I will say to you, ‘Boy, I have grown to a point where being correct matters not to me!’”