Why can I not help but lust for the ne plus ultra of nirvana? Wedged in this whirlwind, a dust devil for deserters. Hell, even King Minos is less of a prima donna. Lost in Labyrinth, thirsty for satori. Will I ever recollect my route back to the reservoir? 17 March 2015

An awful crown one’s been adorned. With flower crimson and stem of thorns. This glaring fixture facing fears. Sweating blood and dripping tears. Does man know nothing else? But to succumb to what he’s felt? Surely not. We command ourselves. To obey others or our own principles. Fate belongs to those who seize it. Not…