i rest, with the drone of thousands of primates behind thousands of typewriters in my ears. creating their own worlds. building their own walls. all this while my world crumbles. weary of industry as it is called. struggling to maintain the facets of this life, this redundance. awake and begin to toil. working to dig your own grave. suffering under what other men have created. all this strife, only to arise with the dawning of the next day to attempt the same. living not under the laws of the created but under the One who fashioned them. i create my own life. i realize my own dreams.