Who will hear my call?
My voice is impacted by the scar tissue of so many wounds, yet I must scream. There is so much left to do, so much I need to work on, and yet ... it feels like there is so little time left. Am I really living in my Final Days? Or THE Final Days? When did it all get so complicated? I am so fond of seeing myself as an emotional train-wreck, but it begs a central question: just when did this train-called-Philip wreck? I could point to so many places in my history, but each of them seems predicated on an earlier one. Just how far back do we go with this?
Was I ever on the rails to begin with?
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