Everything Is Randomly Connected.

He Took Comfort In The Neon Signs, The Wild Strands Of Jazz Creeping Out Of Clubs Whenever Happy Swells Of People Pushed Through The Doors In Their Finery.

Oh, I've A Love, A True, True Love, Who Waits Upon Yon Shore... And If My Love Won't Be My Love, Then I Will Live No More.

We Create The Illusions We Need To Go On. And One Day, When They No Longer Dazzle Or Comfort, We Tear Them Down, Brick By Glittering Brick, Until We Are Left With Nothing But The Bright Light Of Honesty. The Light Is Liberating. Necessary. Terrifying. We Stand Naked And Emptied Before It. And When It Is Too Much For Our Eyes To Take, We Build A New Illusion To Shield Us From Its Relentless Truth.

There Is A Dualism Inherent In Democracy--opposing Forces Pushing Against Each Other, Always. Culture Clashes. Different Belief Systems. All Coming Together To Create This Country. But This Balance Takes A Great Deal Of Energy.

Careful There, Poet. I Might Start To Believe You.