"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations."
-- Anaïs Nin 
I've seen your eyes as they fix on me.
What is he doing? What on earth's the plan? Has he got one?
You better give me some pointers
since you are the big rocket launcher
and I'm just the shotgun.
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