A quick notion:
Living in the urban community, there is an elusive yet ubiquitous paranoia that follows me, a longing for significance and yet total anonymity, like a hidden genius or a sidewalk coffee shop philosopher who knows himself and knows all, and gladly tells all who actually find him what they need to know, but never writes books or anything public to evade the trappings of fame. A part of the paranoia involved in it is that perhaps I am somehow keeping an individual of significance bound up in my mundane existence, never to emerge, unknown to any except God.
The other part of the paranoia is that, in fact, though the longing is there, the person of significance is not, except in the dancing of shadows that do not belong to me on the cave wall. But when I finally face the living fire, perhaps I will find that all along there was someone making caricatures of human delusions behind me, like bait for a fish, just hoping I would bite and follow an unhaunted haunting my whole life so to speak.
This is all mad man's talk, I know; I hope it does not reek too much of ego centrism or delusions of grandeur. Perhaps I'm simply in need of a moment of inspiration and poetry in my life.