This poem is for young people, but I dedicate it to the friends I missed, and friends I've lost, and miss.

Miss Rand, Charles Bukowski, Christopher Hitchens, Sir Ken Robinson, and Daniel Dennet, the world is so much wiser because of you.

And to the young people, and chubby middleagers.

I hope you will love the mice, the rain, and snow, and wet shoes.

I hope you are lucky enough, to understand and love them from day one.

Build your self, inside out.

I ask you to build tough, a firm ground within.

And as soon as you are done, build a new plateau above.

And peep building an ever more refined pyramid, hard layer by hard packed layer.

Until nothing can crush you, until you are unbreakable.

Until you start your life, as a laughing philosopher.

And then get building for real, learn to no end and build in and around.

Anticipate the liars and opportunists, that will come bearing their simple matches.

So that when they press them, against the bridges and skyscrapers you erected.

They will go out, along with all their hope of cold destruction.

If you have been poisoned by stress, and you can barely lift yourself off the ground.

Clear you kitchen of all the appliances, make a fitness zone.

If you don’t remember last time you were rested, drag the alarm clock along with your toaster to the curb.

Sleep in late, because you are not a worker, you are barely human.

You are a creature of the stars first, you are rare, and so are your days.

Go to the library in the morning, scout out where the bullshit is at and what to avoid.

And on your way back, pick up a tent, backpack, sleeping bag, get the thick heavy serious versions.

It gets cold even down in Georgia, and then it gets worse as you follow the melting snow up.

You are going to Nobo the AT, set off North Bound on the Appalachian Trail.

The doubt in the foirst few nights, will be replaced with crying abut what you have done to yourself.

How you robbed yourself of health, of the stars, of nature, of your nature.

You don’t have to make it all the way up to Mt. Katahdin, but you got to start packing for Springer Mountain.

It does not matter what season it is, it does not matter when the other are leaving.

You are not just going there to cross the trail, but to become a monument.

Become part of it, as you learn, and suffer tears, and scrapes, and bruises, a part of you will stay there, forever.

Soon enough, you will through hike, and it will be easy - and you will be in company of gods.

And yo will hear their perfect laughter, Pacific Crest trail will be next.

And then the continental divide, will mark you with the Triple Crown.

You are going to be so sad, when it is over.

But, that only means, you’ve set the slope.

The slope, worthy of you.

Maybe Ultra-marathons, maybe just Western States 100, or just Body Building.

It will be something, you won’t guess, today.

Until you are at the Canadian Border, crying your guts out that you got your crown.

But it will be great, greater than anybody will ever understand.

Go destroy your alarm clock, before it destroys you.

Save the cord for a bracelet, to hand your triple crown charm on.

You are meant to grow all the way up, you are mane to become a great being,

You are a creature, of the stars.

Please, don’t let mediocrity and compromise crush you, rise and let your life bloom.