We all have our trip, our idea of ourselves, our important projects, our thing, our own business. We have our reasons, our meaning, our methods, our excuses. Truth is a hopeless word, useless idea, needless need. As soon as we give it up for lost we're confronted with it again. Endless guest. Invited and welcomed yet immediately uninvited and annoying, and greeted every morning with the same false, anonymous cheer::::never remarked, but certainly noticed. The truth is, well, the truth is we're all failed beings. Unable to appreciate the insignificant, to dampen dreams of grandeur. No, not us! We aren't aspiring::::perfectly contented with perspiring! Work it out. Get a job. Work, work, work. We are not plastic without our job. So when people ask 'What do you do?' and I invariably answer 'I breathe,' the same sincerity, complicity::::the same half-snickered, self-abased and wondering smile.