The Animals. What a fucking band. Eric Burden... His voice permeates my imagination as I sit here tap, tap, tapping away at my keyboard, "Bring It on Home to Me" blaring over my computer speakers. My diploma, ten years in the earning, of the completion of my bachelor's degree floats on the seafoam green wall above wear my desk seems to float, defying gravity or the depth of my walls out to the vast ocean are not immediately apparent. Just the write amount of tiredness blurs my vision, and for an instant I am floating on the sea, listening to the Animals, now it's "We Gotta Get Out of This Place", which was my theme song when I was holed up in Ashland, a college dropout, looking towards a future that I could not have possibly imagined. But that is all behind me. Back in the mist behind me, just blurred at the edges of my vision, that if I look it will destroy the illusion of my floating, floating, away, towards some distant shore, driven by the power of the books stacked up on either side of me, fueled by my imagination, which has more energy that 1 million suns. Maybe I am in denial, maybe I am blindly ambitious, maybe I am delusional, whatever... It doesn't matter. If I don't try, then it can be guaranteed that nothing will happen, but, I am pursuing my masters, and, eventually, God-willing, my PhD. I read, I absorb, I consider, I write, I edit, write some more, edit some more, ad infinitum... Until I have arrived on the distant shores of my own personalized Atlantis. Here I am, but there I will be. Someday. Not now. But eventually. Slowly but surely I make my way, across these vast waters, guided by these and many, many more words, infinite combinations making sentences of infinite possibilities, guaranteeing, out of that infinitude, I can create anything. I create my future. Relentlessly.