What motivates me? The rust that eats at the rail, and the withered skin that droops from an old man’s hand – in a word: decay.
What motivates me? The blade of grass that, despite all odds, breaks free from the Earth’s grasp, and rises from a crack in the sidewalk. Or a broom and dustpan that lean against the wall in a junkie encampment down on Lower Wacker – in a word: resistance.
What motivates me? Decay, and the struggle to resist the inevitable – death. In a word: life.
Yes. And not intending to make a joke, resistance is never futile. Where there is resistance there is hope, and as you say Chuck, there is life. Good!