Gypsy Soul to Blame

As cliched as it sounds, a part of me - correction - a very big part of me seeks immortality over everything else out there. I have come to realize how fleeting is the joy and convenience money and fame bring. I have no interest in them.
What I would love in my time here on earth and afterwords is a state of permanence to my thoughts. Like an organ donor, so I can live through the passing along of my thoughts to others long after I am gone. When I close my eyes, I see that I am a small boy walking a cobbled street and I stop at an unknown point in the road marked by a crisis-cross conflict of shadows. The boy pauses and questions the evening about how it let these shadows slip through in the absence of light? When no answer comes, I looking up to find the source. There are statues of giants to my left throwing defiant figures of black on the ground below my feet. Umberto Eco, Harper Lee, Hemingway and others who have taken the difficult journey I have wanted to take. Nasty folks, messing with my mind.
Rustom was me sending test signals to the limitless universe. I was a boxer taking small jabs at my destiny, unsure if I was strong enough to make minor dents in the minds of my readers. Plant my belief system. Make them view things the way I do. Sucker punch them into thinking it was a thriller, when it was but a sinister and selfish attempt at propaganda of my belief system.
It is very clear to me that the second and third could be my last shot at living beyond my body and bones. And that is why I am being so stubborn and hugging them so tight and not letting them go till I am certain about them. Maybe my grip is so firm that I will suffocate them out of shape to a tragic death. Or maybe the pressure will be catalyst enough to force the second book out as an explosion of thought and originality. Who knows? The thing with every book is that it is but a trial where every reader is a judge.Time will tell.

This is also the reason why I am taking small steps away from my present state. Correction, maybe I am taking small steps towards a different future. More on that in the months to come. It is also evident to me that in all probability they will be the last books I write before I move on to some thing else, if life allows me. After all, there is only so much time we have. Like that country song goes, I got a gypsy soul to blame.