Do it

You don’t plant it, plot it, or agonize over the thought of doing it.

You do it.

You don’t wait for the Gods to give you a green flag.

You don’t discuss it with your girlfriend, your wife, or whore.

You don’t decide on it.

You do it.

You don’t look for a chic café, perfect sunlight, or the right mood.

People have done it naked in coal mines, in drains choked with shit, in whorehouses, in wars while their old mothers were raped by boys who barely knew how to hold a gun.

They have done it under fire, on their deathbed.

They have done it when glaucoma ate their eyes, when their brains forgot where to shit.

The pen, the paper, the typewriter, the keyboard… don’t take them lightly.

They are the raw material for fire—but only if you strike the match.

Do it.