That Parasite: The Past.

At First, When An Idea, A Poem, Or The Desire To Write Takes Hold Of You, Work Is A Pleasure, A Delight, And Your Enthusiasm Knows No Bounds. But Later On You Work With Difficulty, Doggedly, Desperately. For Once You Have Committed Yourself To A Particular Work, Inspiration Changes Its Form And Becomes An Obsession, Like A Love-affair… Which Haunts You Night And Day! Once At Grips With A Work, We Must Master It Completely Before We Can Recover Our Idleness.

To Be One's Own Master Is To Be The Slave Of Self.

That Parasite: The Past.

Might I Be The One I Am Looking For?

Why Grab Possessions Like Thieves, Or Divide Them Like Socialists When You Can Ignore Them Like Wise Men?