I sit and listen to the sounds of the room, the air conditioner, the computer fan. All nothing more than mindless chatter of the household exhibit of daily life. My mind stirs as it cannot help but want to run and run and jog and jump with leaps and bounds. This enclosure has trapped me. My mind and my heart cannot create, cannot do anything. Something is not right. Something is not right. The air, the water, the temperature. Something is off balance. How can one create when the creation is seen as hideous to one self mere minutes after creation. How can one grow if the growth is weighted upon a scale and sold by the pound? I sit in near sile