It bothers me. When I have to lock my door to go to the store for a cup of coffee. That is not me; I’d rather trust and have it floored than let it stop me. I’m at my best when I’m putting breast before the thought beat-what has caught me, my emotion is the press to push out this heart beat which repeats With the same kind of openness. It’s why I’ve always spoken thus. And put it down, and broke the bus and beat the band to boot. I’m no fool. I do what I do for a reason, it’s true but I don’t have to explain shit to you. But I do. It’s called communication, and it’s a small donation to thought and open mind. And I find, the more I provide some background on who I am, the more I know of who I want to be. And who I want to be, it changes. Builds up, falls down, it rearranges, it paints itself in light for strangers, and through their eyes I see how to achieve that prize, the big brass ring of me. And that’s kind of neat. But it has its up and down falls, and when it comes to taking judge-calls, I’m no better than the rest. It tests my strength of virtue, my point of view and purview, and the stupid things we all do, well, they’re my kryptonite. I’m easily embarrassed, and why I’m compelled to share it-well it’s really beyond my sight. But I fight to keep composure, because truth be told you know you’re-only given just one life. That’s right. And if you spend it forever fearful of the people that surround you and the things that they MAY do, well you might as well have spent it in a bubble. And there’s the trouble!! that somehow sensory deprivation presides communication and we’re rationing the space and times we can be touched. And it’s too much! We’re a social group by nature, and I’m not trying to berate or blame you for enclosure, because goodness only knows you’re just one of far too many. But please tell me. How does fear enrich your life?