Sometimes in life, especially me, you have crackpot ideas. Ideas that are mostly totally stupid but nevertheless make life worth living. If you’re on first-name terms with fortune your crackpot ideas work like clockwork and you’re able to leave the boxing ring called life with a black eye. Maybe you’re scarred but you’re grinning like a Cheshire cat and you’re friends bandy that you have grande cojones.
Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.
Describing myself is in fact hard for me. It’s less the fact that I don’t know who I am than the matter that I’m not able to couch it in terms.