Addicted To Writing

I wonder if Wright ever thought himself wrong, before making an actual flight? I mean, pigeons heckling him, from the tin roof's ledge (Oh yea! They do laugh, a sort of subtle, mocking coo, a snickering choir Wright all too well knew -- as if only pigeons flew probably more upset that it was not Kitty Pigeon (bemoaned a Homer of the Township's naming decision) (damn hawks always got the greater glory!) – despite what pigeons did during the perilous war story, risking beak and tail, so our nation would prevail -- and yet, still used, primarily, for Chow Mein and free-range stew, as if humans yet had not a moral clue) (But I digress. Should be cautious: feathered Ears everywhere... myself soon expecting a head full of taunting goo – followed by cooing laughter~ daring me to take offense~ just try to sue!) – And now, it is high-time I confess this write not about Wright, not about wings, nor pigeon mess – but more about being bored, with presently not a thought worthy enough to intelligently address.... Addicted to writing.