I need to know what you're like. I need to know what you think, speak, feel, and why it's all so fascinating to keep doing it every day. Are you fast or slow, mentally or physically, and what occupies your mind when you're alone and nothing is interesting? Who are you, and why will I never understand the most simple human being ever to be put on this planet? Are you black or are you white, or has my entire imaginary world been a thick mess of technicolor all this time? No matter how many days I go without trying to configure your mental capacities and why you are the way that you are, whenever I revisit the mere thought of you, I am continually baffled. You sir, really are the black to my white, the yin to my yang, the Volvo to my Acura. Never in a million years will I understand the meaning behing what meaning you possess, because no matter what you say, shallow or deep, I will interpret it in a place as far from you on the mental globe as I possibly can. In that regard, it may very well continue to guide me blindfolded down a path laid by bricks of stark white and rich black to a place called the mind of Rick Nold. I remember my muse.
Yes HaHa, indeed.