The end of a day. Changing of the guard.
High as hell, red-eyed and cotton mouthed. To my right, a mug of Baileys and hot water with the scale tipped more in Baileys favor. To my left, the future. Well, not really...but this is MY blog. I haven't been writing as much as I should be. Life intervenes but excuses are for the weak or so I've learned in the last few months. Take your licks and keep it moving. Forward motion; always forward motion. You feel that ground slipping out from under you, best grow some wings kid.
Friday night and I'm sitting in front of a computer screen 'un-winding'. The old lady went out with her wife, both in new dresses. Pretty as ever. Something in the way she moves me I believe was the lyric, I really couldn't describe it better. Awe inspiring is the best I got right now.
I take care of mine. Really good care and it puts a smile on my face and a warmth in my chest that Baileys could never compare to. Pales really. I love the feeling of making those I hold closest smile. It makes me whole like the piece of me that I was seeking out for all those dark years was closer then I could have imagined. I stretch myself too thin sometimes but its all just an exercise in perseverance and seeking a better balance.
I'm not there yet...
My balance is swayed by interior and exterior factors. Some things childish and little. Others mature and pressing. Growth as a person can be an extremely complicated puzzle but my patience is growing as well as my tactics for tackling it. Don't get so uptight dick head. Words to live by. Let go of the tone and listen to the words, hard to do but not impossible.
To be quite honest I don't know where I'm going with any of this. Sometimes it's just nice to rant. Sometimes it's just nice to shut the fuck up and listen too and sometimes...sometimes it's just nice to be loved and treasured for the unique motherfucker you are.
Now if you'll excuse me, my glass is empty and I need some sleep.
Cheers.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Love, trust, humility and respect
Love. It's a motherfucker for real.
When you're deep in it all you can think of is the subject of your devotion. The world could be exploding around you and damned if you're not just lost in the deepest bluest eyes you have ever had the privilege of exploring. Shivers and the likes.
I've paddled on lakes and played in streams. Cavorted in creeks and floated down rivers but none can match how utterly gigantic this new found body of water is. And with this discovery comes a new found sense of worry. Regardless of the sheer beauty of the water I'm genuinely concerned. Not so much about the motion of the current that pulls me but more about what I may have brought with me into this paradise.
My insecurities. The sharks skirting back and forth underneath me, poking and prodding at my feet. Testing the readiness of their meal. Always waiting for the toothy beasts to grab a hold of me and drag me into the murky depths. The worst part is I'm aware of their presence but rather then float calmly on the surface to remain intact I flail like a wounded porpoise, engaging their natural instinct to kill. My very will to survive should kick in but yet...nothing. As I'm dragged deeper I bear witness to all the things that I pretend never existed yet are still very real and very present. A lack of self-esteem and trust. A sense of overwhelming anxiety, tightness in my chest, numbing of the extremities. Bright lights skewing my view of the blue eyes that I was swimming in just moments earlier. Now instead of a leisurely dip in the most wonderful body of water I could imagine, I'm in a fight for my senses that even I can't seem to control.
When the bearer of said eyes, mentioned earlier, questions or focuses in on any one of my insecurities...I fall to pieces. My defense is to beat my chest and hold my penis like I'm wielding some sort of futuristic weapon with which the whole world should bow to my infinite power. Rather then listen or engage in what always seems to be a rather reasonable discussion I veto it all with a grunt and an uncalled for remark. After realizing I've made a mistake, I then try to defend it instead of listen. Follow that up with a four hour conversation that gets us back to the spot we should of been earlier ie. reasonable discussion. Very frustrating, very young.
I can let the sharks get me if I'm the one inviting them for a taste, because I do it so often, but when an outside party enters the smorgasbord not even to attack but to observe I turn defensive and lash out. Wherever the blows may land. All in all though I'm learning how to navigate these waters, cherish them for their beauty, trust them with my life and respect them for their sheer terrifying power. Love, it's a motherfucker.
In the words of Dante Terrell Smith-Bey: I ain't no perfect man. I'm just trying to do the best that I can with what it is I have.
It sounds better crooned with a light jazz sound-scape behind it but whatever you get my point. I'm working on it for realsies. We're all human, we all got little intricacies and we all got shit we should be working on. Long as you know that and keep up the struggle and don't let the sharks pull you too far under you're doing alright.
Go for the eyes, those fuckers hate that.
Cheers
When you're deep in it all you can think of is the subject of your devotion. The world could be exploding around you and damned if you're not just lost in the deepest bluest eyes you have ever had the privilege of exploring. Shivers and the likes.
I've paddled on lakes and played in streams. Cavorted in creeks and floated down rivers but none can match how utterly gigantic this new found body of water is. And with this discovery comes a new found sense of worry. Regardless of the sheer beauty of the water I'm genuinely concerned. Not so much about the motion of the current that pulls me but more about what I may have brought with me into this paradise.
My insecurities. The sharks skirting back and forth underneath me, poking and prodding at my feet. Testing the readiness of their meal. Always waiting for the toothy beasts to grab a hold of me and drag me into the murky depths. The worst part is I'm aware of their presence but rather then float calmly on the surface to remain intact I flail like a wounded porpoise, engaging their natural instinct to kill. My very will to survive should kick in but yet...nothing. As I'm dragged deeper I bear witness to all the things that I pretend never existed yet are still very real and very present. A lack of self-esteem and trust. A sense of overwhelming anxiety, tightness in my chest, numbing of the extremities. Bright lights skewing my view of the blue eyes that I was swimming in just moments earlier. Now instead of a leisurely dip in the most wonderful body of water I could imagine, I'm in a fight for my senses that even I can't seem to control.
When the bearer of said eyes, mentioned earlier, questions or focuses in on any one of my insecurities...I fall to pieces. My defense is to beat my chest and hold my penis like I'm wielding some sort of futuristic weapon with which the whole world should bow to my infinite power. Rather then listen or engage in what always seems to be a rather reasonable discussion I veto it all with a grunt and an uncalled for remark. After realizing I've made a mistake, I then try to defend it instead of listen. Follow that up with a four hour conversation that gets us back to the spot we should of been earlier ie. reasonable discussion. Very frustrating, very young.
I can let the sharks get me if I'm the one inviting them for a taste, because I do it so often, but when an outside party enters the smorgasbord not even to attack but to observe I turn defensive and lash out. Wherever the blows may land. All in all though I'm learning how to navigate these waters, cherish them for their beauty, trust them with my life and respect them for their sheer terrifying power. Love, it's a motherfucker.
In the words of Dante Terrell Smith-Bey: I ain't no perfect man. I'm just trying to do the best that I can with what it is I have.
It sounds better crooned with a light jazz sound-scape behind it but whatever you get my point. I'm working on it for realsies. We're all human, we all got little intricacies and we all got shit we should be working on. Long as you know that and keep up the struggle and don't let the sharks pull you too far under you're doing alright.
Go for the eyes, those fuckers hate that.
Cheers
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Random Lurkings And Observations
Word,
Here it goes: blogging...
How hipster am I? I can feel the ankles of my jeans tightening, egads.
People have told me I got a way with words so at this point I got to start doing something to exercise what (apparently) I'm good at. My passion for the English language knows no bounds and even if it did it would probably be pole vaulting the fucker on a daily basis. Aiming for gold round here.
Blogging, the very act itself evokes conflicting emotions in me.
On the one hand I think peoples desperate and constant need for attention causes them to do all sorts of useless shit (see: Twitter) at the sacrifice of personal privacy. Reality TV sans the TV, cameras or anyone that could give a fuck as to what you ate for dinner, what you did today or whether or not your cat is the greatest cat to ever live in cat history (and just to be clear, no it isn't: Battlecat from He-Man was).
On the other hand I can't stop reading peoples blogs and now I want in. I feel like I'm being excluded from this exclusive club that all the 'happening' people are frequenting and I'm standing at the doors trying to look old/cool enough to walk past the bouncer. Well, turns out the bouncer is actually just a standard sign up form and not some bald headed, muscle bound, tribal tattoo having, tap-out shirt wearing, 'may not be smart but can lift heavy things' being, intimidating asshole.
So without further ado...BOOM I'm in like Flynn baby!!
Now as I write all this, I have a chameleon who is the greatest ever on my left hand while listening to Iron and Wine after smoking a joint with the missus having just gotten back from the park and dinner (Peanut stir-fry= crazy delicious).
I know, right? Hypocrite.
Cheers
Here it goes: blogging...
How hipster am I? I can feel the ankles of my jeans tightening, egads.
People have told me I got a way with words so at this point I got to start doing something to exercise what (apparently) I'm good at. My passion for the English language knows no bounds and even if it did it would probably be pole vaulting the fucker on a daily basis. Aiming for gold round here.
Blogging, the very act itself evokes conflicting emotions in me.
On the one hand I think peoples desperate and constant need for attention causes them to do all sorts of useless shit (see: Twitter) at the sacrifice of personal privacy. Reality TV sans the TV, cameras or anyone that could give a fuck as to what you ate for dinner, what you did today or whether or not your cat is the greatest cat to ever live in cat history (and just to be clear, no it isn't: Battlecat from He-Man was).
On the other hand I can't stop reading peoples blogs and now I want in. I feel like I'm being excluded from this exclusive club that all the 'happening' people are frequenting and I'm standing at the doors trying to look old/cool enough to walk past the bouncer. Well, turns out the bouncer is actually just a standard sign up form and not some bald headed, muscle bound, tribal tattoo having, tap-out shirt wearing, 'may not be smart but can lift heavy things' being, intimidating asshole.
So without further ado...BOOM I'm in like Flynn baby!!
Now as I write all this, I have a chameleon who is the greatest ever on my left hand while listening to Iron and Wine after smoking a joint with the missus having just gotten back from the park and dinner (Peanut stir-fry= crazy delicious).
I know, right? Hypocrite.
Cheers
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
