I remember a story once told, back when I was not so old. It was familiar at first, then it became attached to person who listen to it. The story consumed and devours. Left nothing but to be enslaved, unbrawled.
The UP times was up and so is the hype. To an evermore enthusiasm, a jet fuel was burning in the heart. Setting all ablaze, all was illuminated. No and maybe was never uttered. Later or never it was not. Only yes and now was the only moment it has become.
It was good. It was horrible.
Yet it's okay I am going to the moon anyway.
This is art to me...
