Let the fools rage, I swerved in nought, something to perfection brought - W.B. Yeats
Must keep on, through blood, through fire. Must stay strong. Money is crying out to me. It wants me to tell the truth. The mystic truth. A truth unknown that shall become known.
Must keep on. My soul demands it. My subconscious demands it. I demand it. I. I. I. My ego is in action, crushing all resistance. I will only stop at the natural end, death. Don't talk to me about Plato's ghost.
But - what then? I shall join Big Herb. I will become a god.