Preach, Pablo! Teach us how to turn words into star-laced webs of musty magic. 

Pour from our mouths and marvel our ordinary hearts, transform our cliche souls.

The rain is coming down hard outside, bumping up against the leaves and tinkling into puddles of itself, pools full of its friends. Miles Davis is playing something unimpeachable over the stereo. And if you can just let yourself stop thinking about what you have to do tomorrow, then this moment can be perfect.

Let your mind slip, perfection does not come often.

Sometimes I think that who you are is not what you do, but what you think.

And sometimes I think it is just the opposite.

Identity is a confusing thing to identify.