Mind returned to its youth’s end. the gradual recognition the he was perceived as a man, call it young man if you like yet man. Had there been a rise and fall through these years. How unerringly abstraction gravitated towards the figurative. Would he face himself or face away? This was not what he had in mind so he left it, instead, the question answered, saw himself. He sketched. His youth’s end in him had taken after boys, they’ll lock me up, by no means all, no this was an affair of taste. This interest superceeded all others save perhaps his personal safety. Though, in all honesty there were times he had to admit when even this was put at risk. So in truth, he was crazy for them. And there were indeed so many. And so many that did indeed light up his eyes. Years and years of this. His disguise improving with the onset of age. Dirty old man he may be but drop shame from his feelings he could carry it off a kind old lover of life, new life. This mothers understood so smiled. Oh dear if they only knew. They’ll lock me up. The shame lay outside the mind. Belonging only as an other of which it had no part. What lay beyond this shame the mind knew not save that it did not manage to penetrate the shame as in turn the mind failed to penetrate this lump attached to mind as moon is attached to life.