How many paths?

Where did you walk? When I say you
I generally mean I. It is hard to say,
because location is only describable 
relative to locations. When something 
relates to its own genre exclusively,
it cannot be categorically or specifically
described. Anyway, the question was 
where did I go and what paths did I
walk? What I mean is, where should
I go? When I say go I mean do and 
when I say where I mean what. My
eyes and my minds tremble like
the trees, intermittently watching
the river and the street and the
replacement streetlight bulbs. 
What I want, really, is a manifest
o. Either would do, just some kind
of destiny that can be, ideally is 
already, written down. Something
to subscribe to and only read the
things that come from that source.
This desire is a trap, a crap that will
be shot at, never hit. The point of 
writing is to prove that there can
be no final word. And as long as 
one is writing, there is only 
middle. And the middle of 
a path is every point that 
is not the very beginning
or the bitter, idiomatic
end.