Off she goes back to her off-ice she goes back to her off she goes...

T here is no room, nor no need for the metropolises to swallow me, or for office corridors to salute and suffocate me. There is no longer need for me to be the walking talking mannequin, the Statue of the Liberally Unfree. The more I stay here the more I become “I” but my “I” does not see, nor hear anything beyond the smog that clogs its inner vision, bemoaning this city of decadence.

So off I go to the foothills of Blue Ridge Mountains, the Appalachians, to that small town with a plethora of antique shops, arched stone bridges over beautiful lakes, raw moonlight and bold starlight as I dance to the reunion with home. Nature awaits me folks, and after I am done living life out here in the middle of this nothingness called Northern Virginia, I want to venture out and become the somebody who became a nobody and from whom no one hears again. I’ll be the blue sky when you look out your office cubicle, the dew drops when you walk across the field to go to your classroom, the organic grapefruit when you dig into your McDonalds. Yes sir, ma’am and mademoiselle, of I go to my home.