a face in a cloud, no trace in the crowd

"but where a young man will forgive the stray, an old man will cut it out. youth always tries to fill the void, an old man learns to live with it."

my void is inspiration, or the lack thereof. fingering the pages, i find a voice of absolution screaming for attention and a [paradox] with which i am sorely accustomed. a new apartment and a knowledge of the scene keeps me from ever truly knowing who and where my true friends are. where my inspiration lies is in a book unwritten, a passage unread, a song unsung, and a painting not rendered by God or his constituates.

if not beggar, label me mercenary, patiently waiting for someone to either:

a) save me, or
b) appraise me.

def believe nothing more than this quote out of context.

"cameras or guns, one of ya'll is gonna shoot me to death."