Why do I write? That's like asking, why do I breath? I think, therefore I write. I must write. It's obsessive, a need that must be fulfilled as often as possible. It's like intercourse that way. An amorous longing for pen on paper, or words on a screen, saved for my viewing, and for your eyes. Left to be looked upon when the moments have been long forgotten, and to remember.

Without memories...who are we? Even in death, we are still in existence, in the memories of those we leave behind. Make sure to leave someone behind who will love you enough to remember you. No one to remember you, and no one to love you even after you're gone, is the truest form of death.

Salvador Dali - "Geopoliticus"   (from art.com)