My ideas are always with me. They never depart. They are literally as close as a thought, as near as a word aptly formed and spoken, as rote as a symbol etched carefully on parchment, though the symbol be lent to unpleasant truths, the concepts that both enthrall and repel with their taboo effervescence.
My ideas can always nurture me. They surround me, infuse me with the life-force that provides my vibrational energy. My inner voice is my electricity, my chi and my vibrations. When these align, my inner voice gives me the insight I need, the will to carry this insight forth, the energy to organize it into a system of thought, the courage to accept the truth of that system, however unfashionable and taboo, however much an apostate it doth morph me.
My confidence in my ideas gives me the heavy responsibility to speak the truth. It gives me the alacrity to proclaim this truth clearly and loudly with no expectation of a hearing, much less acceptance from the herd of middling average men; these are the mass of men who are in exile from themselves, yet are constitutionally incapable of becoming aware of their own exile.