Perhaps it's not a pathological impulse to seek projects and people to contribute, making progress maybe it was the depth of the addiction the self-centeredness of every move that conspired to push me away from Doing and toward a step by step approach to walking without memory beyond a misty tail sure to blow away knocked on my back by my chest, fever, there is no Done without energy the desire is dead, aggrandizement ended so as it started, perhaps: there may be a way to push boulders to the top of hills in a group without being concerned about the imperfect view the jagged, cutting edges or the [humiliation of] rolling back down.