I am not what I was before. I am full perhaps, or far too empty. I am thoughtless. I am collapsed on a porch, hanging over a railing, and spitting out my quality onto rose petals fallen from a bush that died from too many thorns. I don't want quality or quantity, I am instead at home with mediocrity. I spent a lifetime trying to fill up the empty corners of living rooms, filling the empty space on desks with piles and piles of words that never really meant anything. With 40,000 years of human vocabulary under our belts we stick with the words PEACE and WAR because we don't believe that anything else ever matters anymore. We don't know times of PEACE and we're sick of times of WAR, but if the WAR turned to PEACE then everyone would get bored. We are shaped like the wind, the human race. We can't sit still and we never end. We are microscopic tabloids whispering theories into the ears of others and shaking tree branches when the world becomes too still. Stability is shunned, but embracing change is against our will. We have seen enough, we have been enough, we have done enough. My head is full