Homer

There are far too many times when I have time and have absolutely no ideas.

Zero.

It's like my mind can't walk out an open door when the world's screaming, no, yelling, "fire."

What kind of man am I? I ask, afraid of knowing the answer.

I'm the kind of man that has to have something come to him, and not the kind that comes to something. And when it comes I have to get out of the way in order to move forward, and moving forward is anything but linear.

Even if I was sitting in Santa Claus's lap I wouldn't know what to ask for. Everything I want or need can only be given me by a God.

Happiness? No, I've had that, it doesn't work for me.

Brilliance sounds good and intelligence sounds better, but both are a little cold, austere, and depend almost entirely on the intelligence of others.

All I want's an idea, is that too much to want? Is there something wrong with that?

It's not that I can't look ahead, but when I do there's only the thin line of a horizon that pretty much always looks the same other than a slight nuance or two--fog, clouds, shoreline, island. When I look back it's even less interesting, since what I see is happening again and again.

I know the story I'm telling because I've told it so many times. It's full of ideas I've already had.