So it goes like this; if I had no name, if I had no home, if I had no hopes, no dreams, and no wishes, would I still have any purpose, any courage, any passion, any strength, or any determination? Would I still be able to make any history or have any legacy? If I was really as mean, as shallow, as anchorite, as misanthrope, as hypocrite, as liar and as coward as I pretended to be, would I still be wise, or intellectual? Would I still be an artist or philosopher or a poet or a romanticist? If I was a really leader who refused to lead, wouldn’t I be then just another follower? And If I really lacked faith or trust or sanity would I still be searching for it in the eyes of others?

So what is there really left to be said?

Tarantism,

Oh tarantism.