As mental doors finally clang shut and the balance between a levelheaded vision for the construction of something worthwhile and the youthful bloodrush to the head that is not yet in its dying throes (I hope, for it's a sweet siren song indeed) is sought with clarity that increases every day, I'm torn between expansion and self-control, whimsy and rigor.

Screaming "Kick out the jams!" is the antithesis of saying "Save a small part of the world through math and sense and sensibility.", and I want both.

And allthewhile avoiding being derivative is almost impossible. Perhaps that's not remotely undesirable, though.