The last begins… a paragraph lingers at the edge of my mind… I sit here as I have sat here before… on numerous occasions… called to put some thing of my art down… what it is or what it turns into… leaves me expressionless… that is the point left blank… the moments of awaiting for the culmination of what has been brought forth… the essence of true art is in the making… at the very least it is for me the way out of any place I find myself cornered into… and weather that storm of change is one of my own making or one of those that arise in the absence of my thought… the closer I get to realization the farther away I get from creation… the artist doesn’t care as much for the finished product as he cares for the art of creating the product… and the use of the word product is an injustice… the art is life… a life force more then just a culmination onto paper or a figure that stands tall after being formed… it is a shining moment of awareness when the light of dawn finds the words in just the write form…

When some one wanders past they wander in… they slide on in to the magic of our emotions… what has to be is neither here nor is it in any one place… it is perhaps in all places where the sharing of ones gifts is natural… where the art of being hue is encouraged beyond all others… where the awareness of the gift is truly unusual…

It is the last day… another in a series of endings… we sit on the edge of one ready and prepared to step easily onto the next as the time approaches… sinister time is… yet pleasing to the soul… we are taken by our hands and walked through the time we have and left with an image of places we have stepped past… some vivid… some knot so… some lost as being insignificant in the total collection of our time… each moment we have lived… been alive to pass through… today… is one of the lat days… a mile stone of passage… as we move from July into August we enter the dog days of summer… as the world around us begins to prepare for sending children back to school… or for Autumn’s cool breezes and rustling of leaves… we are still stuck in the heat… the humidity… the wonder of summer’s lazy days… in this respect we loose sight of the joy of being lazy… of sitting back and letting the day slip by as we recharge the batteries… the last day of July holds for me the promise of an August where we have time to simmer in the heat… and where we begin the new year of learning for those who reside with me… this last day is one that will pass unnoticed… except in reflections of how fast time is moving… how times flies… or that it is August already… stepping into the future and pulling the present with us in an effort to reach some where faster then we are… the foolishness of youth believing that once we get to some fictitious place in time all knowledge of living will fall into place and we will live a wondrous and full filling life… the place of all awareness is death… it is the only place in our lives where we have all the answers… it is where we let go of the false ones and see the true ones… up until then we are in a state of learning some thing new and interesting…we sit on the edge of July… perched on the very top of another month we have climbed… another year we have managed to conquer… and wonder how many more summer’s will we have… or will we desire to want… the fatigue is deep… at times so deep the depths have knot be calculated… and of course death does visit all around us… being part of life… imparting the gift of sight as one passes… there are those that fear that moment… in time we learn knot to… we learn knot to dwell or to notice his wandering among us… we accept it as part of the celebration of life… and go on… aware that he is with us… but knot paying him know mind… for what matters most is knot how ones life ceases at their moment of awareness… but how they lived to that point…

I am knot now nor will I ever be satisfied with what I have managed to accomplish… I am in awe of what I have done when I have knot attempted to do anything… and truly disappointed with my efforts at reaching a goal consciously… strange how the illogic of life works out some times… we get to have exactly what we need… in all things… at all times… we are faced with the wonder of learning the true lesson of our life… in our desire to be more… to maybe be noticed by another we place false hope in the recognition… as the pedestal that we raise us above others… the seekers of the status of celebrity…the best shun the light and continue to do what gained them the light… the false ones bathe in its glow and burn in its heat… like moths to flames… they are pulled in and destroyed… for the light is a knife that slices up a life time and exposes each layer… leaving each to be viewed by the world… away from the context of the life as an entirety… I am knot satisfied with my life… this dissatisfaction is with me… with who I have become… the way I am on… the paths I have chosen and my reluctance to live them as well as I could have… my life is as ambiguous as my language… the real me does not exist in the realm of my words… I have truly become the illusion… the figment of my own imagination… and for these few moment on the days when I do mange to reach our beyond my life… there is refuge from the storms of me… the ravages of life as they fall upon me… I wish to be the person others believe I am… or the human my dogs believe me to be… but I am stuck being me… that is all I can manage… and that is never going to be enough… being me falls far short of the mark…

The house shuffles to life… my alone time has ended… time to be me… and let the illusion fade away…

They all go eventually… the choice made for them or by them… it is a consistent theme… impossible to ignore when one looks back… the collision… the wonder… the time… the sparks flying in directions… then there is the evenness… followed by the eventual… each time it happens a little bit more is taken… I know it is a sign for me… that I am knot registering properly… so I will repeat the course… until time infinity… until I do grasp it… if I ever do fully grasp hold of the meaning…

The circle or range of my at has happened… the need to use or knot to use… remains… in time the colors fade and the writings will be used for scrap… dust to the four winds of time… my manuscript of live tossed on another’s fire to burn for the heat of the moment… in retrospect that is poetic justice… the heat of the moment… all the while I knew the thin line and to be sure I wanted it to get thinner and thinner and to break at points or become so unclear that to be lost was a reasonable step…to wander over to the other side of madness… to adventure in another’s play ground… to experiment with them… to feel the depths once more… those voyages became a passion… a draw for me to seek out the others of the same wonderings… I found a few… a select number of idealists… creative thinkers… yet those paths repeated the same circle of collision to eventual…

We all deny the inevitable nature within us… the need to be seen… or exposed as it were… some day some one will find the uniqueness of me and I will be found out as the fool… or the savor… or some thing in the between… of those extremes… I could care less about the stories told…the ones who speak know little if anything… we get what we reap from the paths we choose… I am a responsible person… in that regard… in all regards to what steps I take… it may seem that I avoid… that I walk away… I never truly leave… I just circle back to the shadows where I am most comfortable… where I am most engaged in being…

To those I will meet… that I am unaware of at this point in time… beware of the collisions they are life altering explosions… to those I have already bounced into and are following their own ways… the small peace is what I take… nothing more…

It was never and it is in all ways the path… we make choices… we say things… write them… explore the possibilities… put down on paper our dreams… illusions… ideas… fantasies of life… the taste is simply all we ever get to have… a sample of this or that and nothing more extravagant then that… we get to have a possibility… nothing more… how we enrich our lives with that seed defines our next steps from the moment we touch into one another… the arrivals often surprises… the departures are more mutual diverging of paths we choose to take…

The one who is the source of our inspiration probably never knows that they are… we sit far off along the edges of their reality and hold them to a standard they in the world of life can never be or would wish to be… their human nature is beyond our ability to accept… they are for us the perfection we dream of having… of possessing… of being… we are unable to allow them that right of being as human… as frail… as vulnerable as we are… they are the light that shines upon us… the bridge we get to cross over… never is such an inspiration owned by a singular person… they are the way… the light and the truth for more then we can over stand… more then we wish to…

A veil of silence exists between… an awkward signal that one has moved on… the words become ones of toleration and distance… each taking the least path… to full fill the more they are inspired to reach for… once a spark of possibility exists we must find the next place for that spark to land… so that a passion can burn in the proper tinder… the necessary place for us… one can live in the world of imagination for only so long before the need that dwells within thrusts us into the world of our reality…

On the anniversary of our lives… we reflect upon our dreams and possibilities… we can count the blessings as what ever we wish them to be… each situation is both a curse and a blessing… for the knowledge we gain… each step an opportunity to move forward past the trials to the wonder… each day a new canvas to paint or draw upon… each moment a fragment of possibility…

The glass is filled and over flowing and some times we miss the point…the ones who inspire us have this way of opening our eyes… ears… minds… creativity to the glass that we our… the gift of hue… the power of the expression… the sharing of us with those we are surrounded by… as difficult as times may be… and as distant as the image becomes… I continue to be inspired by the faintest of light that shines from that one touch rekindles by words… sounds… a caress to my imagination by a singular thought… My glass is over flowing and I miss that a great deal… the fatigue of my mind presses down upon me… at some point I will return full circle to a place… a time… in the future where I have the proper perspective to be… for now the steps I am taking are weighted down with perspiration… with memories… with questions… and with reflection… the image of witch is knot often pleasant to see…

I will say my apologies… I will speak my regrets… I will fashion my thoughts to move forward… with the singular motion of time… I have become aware of me… of the perception of me… of a perception of me that is in my eyes not a pleasant one… in that light I do apologize to those who my words cut off… or to those my silence wounded… I was at that time know better… I accept the stones… that were caste and the arrows that were directed at me as being legitimate… as being from those who my actions touched in a way that was inappropriate… when the thin line is crossed the world of illusion changes an becomes part of the reality of another life…

For me best to remain as an illusion… a figment of imagination… to feed the fires of passion for life… there is that time of never wishing to go further… to being satisfied with the steps another has taken… and then to let them go… so that they may feel the wonder alone… the wonder of self expression… of being alive… of finding the art within them… the expression of witch is their steps… their creative possibilities… and the sooner they fly free the better for them… for us…

At some point today the expression of me will find its outlet… be that in the sounds of my own silence or in the cascade of the expression of others in response to me… I want so much to break free of the thoughts that possess me… but truth is a difficult task master… requiring the accept dance before letting one move forward…

There are moments when the need to share a thought is so over powering we wander to the hills to shout it… and others when the words refuse to move from within our throats… in between there are times of great joy and places where we are articulate… each life is a series of opportunities to flower and grow in the proper encouragement… each of us is the seed… the garden… and for others we are the soft rain… the gentle hands that till the ground and care for the flowers as they bloom… in joy we celebrate the this day as one where we feel the soft rain upon us and let it flow to others… sharing the need… the expression of being alive…

It is time…

It is often the case with me that the reasons or what seems to be the reason fails to stick… they fail to remain in my memory for long enough that they have merit… in other words the initial motivation for what I am doing escapes me… once I am on the road to doing what ever it is that I am doing… the distractions are long… they take me forever… the concept of time… the eternity of wanting to just be there… and suddenly the opportunity approaches… the details of witch escape me…

The summer time simmers… it is a quiet step away from the hustle and the high speed race I often find myself upon… all the while… and to be fair I have been lazy… to me that is the essence of summer… the joy of being lazy… I am beyond the worries of youth where the frame is important… the ideal shape or package… I find humor in the expression of those who cast eyes at the shape… and wonder if they measure up or down… Summer is a time for letting go of the structure of parent… child… the routine of work and weekends still is there except for those precious few where we are taken away to some place else… we have yet to leave on our some place else butt soon we will wind our way to a southern shore and take a journey for a week in that some place else we dream of… I am unaware of any summer in my forty some thing life time that hasn’t left a positive image upon my mind… there is time for family… for friends… for the smell of fresh cut grass… the sound of children swimming… of laughter… of swinging in the hammock… or just sitting in the warm sunshine… I see the wonder in summer… the promise in the relaxation… the potential in the rest… the recharging of the batteries so to speak…

The trail… or maybe it is our perception of the trail we are on can confuse… bemuse… befuddle… we come to face the mirror… our reflection… our perception of our reflection… the sight pushed back pushes… strings us… ties us in string… twisting the single thoughts we have… and we pound our heads in silence… and then knot so silent frustration at all and know one… until we find the gift… the hue of being one… the singular expression… our art comes forth… in a series of colors… sounds… the pallet of a single rainbow… we hold it within our hands and magically we transform… we find our way… and become some one… and that moment defines us… it becomes the pivot that feeds to another… and so on down the line… we move… we breathe… the inhale the substance that feeds our wonder and excitement… suddenly the words… the simple words spark imagination…

The pages turn as they do… one for each morning… on the awakening… the new sheet becomes the canvas of our imagination… our mind the pallet of opportunity… the tool of our artistry the brush that colors the paper…

You can hang on an illusion… it does knot die… You can tie up a figment… it does not stay bound… you can perform all sorts of Miss Chief and it will knot change or rearrange the image one has… for illusions…figments… and creatures of the imagination never fade nor do they wither or die… they are to the believer the ability to see beyond the limitations one would impose upon another… and when all is said and done… they can be hung in jest or tied to chairs… but they escape all harm for they are truly knot even there… for the wonder full thing about them is that they are just a dream… and when it is said and done… they are what they are and knot what they seem…

If you find it necessary to tread on an illusion or to tie up ones imagination or to let fly the hang man’s noose on a creature of some ones imagination… then it is to you that they cry in the dark of the night for shame… for shame… for shame of the child that does not see…nor do they hear… nor feel the wonder of make believe in a world filled with the effects of other’s dreams… you can hang the illusion from the ceiling tile… or bound its limbs to a seat in a chair… or destroy the fantasy piece by piece… in the end you have failed to grasp the beauty of the thought that for one moment each day a smile is wrought from the child with such an imagination as to still believe… challenge me knot for thy eye’s don’t see… thy ears don’t hear and thy heart does not feel… the illusion rests in peace filled dreams forever to awaken when each dawn is near…

The concept of acceptance of the notion that what one sees, hears or feels is tantalizing to the senses… in a way that makes them appreciate the image formed within their mind… the daze is one of sorts… one of wandering… of letting the mind skip… jump… run off in a wild and free direction… with that there is know limits to the possibilities that stroke ones fires of passionate desire for the art that creates such appealing images…

Every love is the love of our life time… or at least it appears to us at that time to be just that… I believe what makes the one love grow beyond the others is our willingness to let down our barriers and set the other free… to be vulnerable with them… to give them the same security of mind… heart and soul… each love before was a stepping stone to the one we now have… and the loves we will have on the morrow will enrich the one we have… it is a nice cycle of wonder to be washed in…

The few and the far in between know… they have to… for the most part the day will pass unnoticed… a celebration of shadows… of being the common… there is for those who know am avenue of reflection… a time to embrace the calendar… the aspects of time… measured…each sequence of events… chapters and verse… filed away… a new one opens… an old one closes… and when the time comes to wonder… I often do… sow the seeds of the deluge… letting the music take the images higher and higher… and when the forecast sweeps us before… the music keeps our spirits high… and buildings we have occupied keep the children of our dreams dry and safe from the elements of earth… wind and fire… the anger we have of the abuse of the earth comes forth in our pleasure in doing the right… of keeping the parks green… the air we breathe crisp and clear… and sweep all the challenges into the deluge of water from the sky… the rivers swell… and the few and the far in the between have revealed a secret about this day… and to know one else… let the message be known… let the music reach the sky… the heavens open… the passengers on her waves bye and bye… and another one moves past… on the cusp of the new sign of the zodiac…

Observations on fanaticism… on the far extreme of any ideal will probably include a number of the same words… What it makes me think of are questions of what… how… and with whom do extreme measures take hold… the only place is in despair that ideals of far extremes work… and the promise of a better tomorrow in the next life of eternity one could be manipulated to believe a fiery or martyred existence is a worthy end… truly devote persons pray in the silence of their heart… live as examples… and are at peace within their souls… they exist all around us… unnoticed… for they know the true meaning lives in the life they are leading… knot in the pontification for the show of others… the less time we give fanatics… the better… knot that we should ignore the cause that spawns them… that we should be aware of… and pursue all good to rid the world of the poverty that robs a person of hope… of dignity… if we are guilty of anything it is in believing we have the only answer… that money alone can ease another’s situation… that because we tolerate others… that other cultures will use that model and tolerate others much as we do… we play a double standard… for our own benefit and when we stop doing so… we will be better for the change it will bring…

We feel the right way… and pass over what is left… it is natural… comfortable… while at times it is difficult to do the right thing… we in all ways know witch thing is right… after a time… as we mature… we have the experience to know that the obsession is not as wonderful as the consistent… obsessions… tend to devour the relationship… while consistent builds them… and leaves room to grow… witch is the basis for any lasting one…

The get up… the wonder of the style… beat… rhythm… rhyme… the way the feet move in one way or the other… we are the reflection of what we listen two… what we surround ourselves with… what we allow ourselves to be influenced by… the wine… intoxicating as it is… removes certain barriers we place between us… the water… is an ocean… a stream… a bath… the table a game… a pleasure to sit across from for the dialogue twists the tongues and lets the mind wander in effortless circles… the rambling comes and she goes… only to find another place to let go and be free… the first becomes the last in time we put them aside and let the music never stop… being the end to the means at witch we send thoughts… along the way we learn to sing our own songs in place of the ones other’s created… we learn to write our own words… our own notes… our own art… we learn the beauty of eyes… the casual touch… we learn the passion and the desire… we find them when they are lost and rekindle them when the flames flicker… we have the courage to be… in knot being for so long we missed only the wonder… now is the time to set ourselves free… free of the strings that bind us to a place or a time… the single string… the multiple ropes… the ride… the ebb… the flow… the top or the bottom… the gathering of what one desires or the casting off of the old ideas… we ramble on to grasp the concept… and be it one or the other… it is a some thing… or the sum of things…

Nice ass… well the donkey takes that as a compliment… and he does work real hard… it is a dog’s life and that doesn’t leave much for the ass… they have to do the heavy stuff… the beast is a burden some times… and some times he carries the load… butt a nice ass he is…

Certain things… stir the emotional wave… the rise and the fall… the crest… before the plunge… and while the body rests after… the before anticipation fills the imagination… the quest for more… to ride more… for longer periods of time… to stretch the limits of ones ability physically… the go on and on into the night… the day will come… atop or as one slides into the valley… certain things occupy the mind more often…

The first two are a bit more then the second two… having guessed that the mood is what one makes of the sounds… you can color the world as you see the fit come to be… the difference between the now and the then will be seen in the hair… mostly in the hair… the colors fade… the thin line pushes back… the first two are songs that push the envelope a bit… and the second ones are ones that reflect inward more… and so it goes…

The secret to receiving is to give… well at least in a esoteric sort of way… the tripling effect… what one does here manifests itself in three other places… and sow on… the spreading of the seeds allows us to grow in places we never imagined… in tossing the seeds we allow fate to lend her hand to the winds of change… and some will fall upon dry grounds and wither… but some will find fertile soil and grow… and it is these that we strive to be… that we desire to nurture…

Necessary are certain evils and certain goods… the balance… a chance to gain is often lined with the potential for a less then perfect outcome… the lure of the gain is what we focus on and reach for… seeing the goal often allows us to step over the obstacles… the mountain is more often a hill of moles… digging blind… when we turn the lights on they scatter to the depths of their hiding places… necessary they are… but I rather see where I am going… and step over the mole hills along the way… for a step inside one could snap a part I need to run along now…

Normal is the peace we find in doing the artistic expression of who we are… normal is the dance… the music… the hand on the brush singing to us… normal is when we are one with the art… one with the world we have created… one with the spirit of who we are as it is being expressed in endless torrents of ideas… normal is the center… the gentle peace we experience as we walk… run… and sing…

Normal is the words we use and share… normal is the silence we give freely to one another and the sound of our laughter… normal is the expression of the self we wish others to know more… normal is the colors we paint with… the hue we use in our words… the color of our magic… normal is the wall we place in between to protect us from those who step write on past… normal is the places we attempt to hide and fide them sitting there with us… normal is the avenues we walk alone only to find when we open our eyes that they are with us always… normal is our fear of such wonders… normal is the dawn that rises and the sun that sets… normal is the joy felt at the sound of a voice carried on the wisp of a dream… normal is the magic that kindred souls share… normal is any thing you wish it to be…

Pick a peace… imagine it as part of the whole… the peace… the one to reflect upon… I wonder where that peace will lead you…?

There is a fat man in the bath tub… excuse me… mirror image… but the song is a good one…

The illusion is what we first know… the second is the reality behind that image… most never get past that to the core of the person… the reality in a majority of the circumstances destroys the illusion… so deeply is that done that people turn away from the illusion… preferring to knot be part of the dream… rather to be in the reality… to mull over the leaps and bounds… the thing we first know was what the reality could not be… and so we are faced with what we consider to be an injustice… a false image of the person we are speaking with… when we create the illusion from our own imagination… we created the fairy tale and now we are disturbed when the reality that exists is so very different… I am just as much to blame for what I write as any who inspire me… in the still of the moment… I could slip into sleep… and dream for a few precious moments… first there is the illusion… the illogic… second there is the reality and the logic of every day… more often then knot the illusion and illogic fail to stand up to the real and the logical… I am knot the person I appear to be in this illusion… I am knot this nice… I am the mirror image… the fat man… singing… in the bathing tub… the neighbors can hear the moans… as can the cats along the alley way… some musical accompaniment… the smarter sex slips aside and lets the other sex implode… the illusion grows… as the reality shrinks… the possibilities of endless opportunities… is of course a dream like reaction… it is real in the sense that we believe in that alternative… it is totally belief structured…

In chaos there is the silence of focused action… in silence the chaos of thought… in serious nests the eyes meet… in humor the edges touch and bounce… they are easy… care free and soft to land upon…

The words I have… the music others bring… I hear the sound of silence rising around me… the greeting of the darkness… the old friend from times before… I sit and talk with them once more… and in the shadows of my life I will lead and I will follow and be taken by my hand and given comfort… the edge of silence… the being… the total freedom… of letting go the ties that bind the strings to me and what is left is all there is to gather up… free at last… free at last… and yet tied to the tree that is the forest of one… captured by its roots… deeply dug in… watered and fed…

The music was butt a story that was once told… it speaks of light airs… of the champion of times before and since… it tells of a fun side and then a more serious one… the picture is of hue… rainbows of colors… soft in the light of day… a beacon in ones mind as they sleep… hell is the bucket… heaven the ride…

The going is through a place… past… present… a quest to reach a future… a place worthy of ones emotions… there are places to go and people to meet… long lines to form… and short ones to wait in… time is an opportunity to make more… of the wonders we wish to hold close…

The tide of our waters is rising… ebbs… come in time… some of the water can be ridden… waded… splashed in and around… we can drink deeply of the cool stream… it possesses the power to refresh as well as to end… the double edge of life’s necessities…

Real is a concept… as is imagined… the computer’s we use today so easily was a concept in some one’s imagination… now it is solid… real… the speed at witch we expedite change… the faster we progress toward making the real from our imagination… we can pop in and out of the real… and still be considered normal… though that is not the end goal of my need… I know that the need to be accepted is for some…

I so love the art… the time spent letting out the creative insecurities… and watching over the course of time… the progress form the stringing of silly words into use filled paragraphs… as with most artists we think nothing of our abilities as artisans… when the time comes for others to weed through our leftovers… their eyes will fall onto the wave of emotions filed away in these closets… chests… music… and hearts opened on these single pages… we become immortal… if even only for a moment… the dust of our life will mingle with the dust of all other life times… and become the dust of the next life time…

The music was just a thought… a collection of tastes buds scattered across a few digitally mastered peaces of this or that… the music reminds me of the river of dreams… the place where I can be as close to another as when I am… imagine the wave… the rise and then the fall… the pinnacle of change moved to the precipice of chance… a single step placed wrong and the slide is a long one… the short end grasped we take from the adventure knot the total butt the result in a fiery night…

The logic is illogical and yet it works perfectly fine for me… and even if we donut know we do know a bit… and what we think is help filled to explain… the guns are drawn… the fire is from the heat of the sun… the saints are sinners now since hell has frozen over and the divine is called upon… she rocks the roll and plays the goal and runs along the high way… I want another dog heated to the core… the pattern on my sheets are varied from clear to mildly exciting… the older we get with time… the more we appreciate his nudges along… the sea is sick of sailors… the air tired of air plains… the lovers are varied… but they walk in and then out the door… the sky is a pale baby blue… mysteries aside… the chain reacted to the one side… and the gate that was once bolted and locked away has swung open to let in the multitudes of spray… awash in the waves I wonder… close… the edge slides to me… forgetting the dead will come back… the standing will one day fall… those on the ground will come back for you… the dew falls on the pasture blue… and mingles with the tears of joy… the colors run… the rainbows shade… the mystery is butt a lamp shade away… dance the fandango… the tango… the samba… the waltz… dance to the music that plays alone… dance with the others… dance to the song… dance to the wave and sing a tune… dance to the magic that sweeps in time with a broom… the logic is illogical… who can find fault in that will find fault in the writings of any mind…

There are some things that while nice to do… are not necessary to due… and it is that do or knot to do question that becomes the question… the be or knot to bee of literary fame… I am the butter that flies… the porch that swings… the diamond that rings… the rabbit with ears… the pencil thin… the eye of the needle… the fish eyed view… the elongated idea… and yes I do find the whey more often then the curds… the downed pole spoke with feathers flying… the tar was not as easy to deal with… these are the things that matter most… challenges to the find spring… the lyrics donut have to make sense… they just have to fit the music… once they come together they form their own logical association of poetry in motion…

All of a sudden the fatigue catches me in its grasp and I am falling… falling… falling… It matters not what I feel… for I had no vote in the confusion… in the decision… or in the closing of the door… I have learned enough in my life times to know when to leave the well enough alone… the pattern that was there all along manifests itself in actions… followed by reactions… emotions… waves that are ridden then shared… it was for me the core… the hardest part that made know sense… in joy we find that we prefer the other side… where our lives are broken down into self fish layers… where we can roll in the party of the pit to the tee that defines us… best resembles the who we are… but for all the who’s down in the village that holds them… there are very few who’s who are the same as the who we have become… I am tired…