There hasn't been any glue. Too many pieces, put together and then falling apart. No glue holding my thoughts together, my words together. Tried putty. Caulk. Chewing gum. No stick.
I've been practicing mindfulness, having teflon mind. Letting go. Allowing thoughts to slide away instead of snagged in a white-knuckled grip. Deep breathing, allowing for the greater wisdom to prevail, to guide, to assist. To ground.
But my words have been faint. Exhausted. Pale. Rendered impotent. They have been at odds amongst themselves. They haven't been playing well with others. They've been fractured, schizophrenic, kinetic and dynamic. Moving like rush hour traffic without adherence to the rules of the road. All over the place. Here and gone. Stop and go. Effluent.
I've wanted to try and make sense. But I can't be bothered by such silly love songs. I just need to trust my gut. And oh, what a gut it's become.
So. I left ya hangin' with the last post. S'pose I should try and tie up some of them loose ends (or is it split ends?) fer y'all.
Nah. Not right now. Gotta procrastinate a bit more. And with you, licking your chops. You gotta really want it, friends!
And so do I. Besides. I gotta read the last post again to remember what I said. My Etch-A-Sketch mind has been shaken since I wrote that...
I shall return, to borrow a phrase. Stay tuned.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Testing...
I'm not sure I have anything to write about right now. But I'm gonna try and do it anyway and see what happens.
Get in the car. Turn the key. Engine starts-- put it in gear. Here we go.
Don't forget your seatbelt.
I've got piles. Stacks of paper on my desk, in boxes. All for inspiration at a later date.
Today's that later date. Time to get, as my therapist put it, a spiritual enema.
I want to write about my past. I want to tell of the stories that I thought were important then. Are they still important? Time will have to tell.
I was a boy back then. Young. You may not have guessed just by looking at me. But it's true. I was just 18 years old and I'd found the person I thought I wanted to spend my life with. Problem was, I was timid, I was shy, and I wasn't sure she wanted what I wanted. And I was scared that if I asked, the truth would be something I just couldn't bear. So I was quietly friendly and cautious. Slow. Hopefully romantic. Hopeful. But exasperatingly cautious. And timid. And frozen from acting on my greatest of intentions.
I set this all up because I hope to transcribe what I wrote longhand so many years ago. But not here; this is not the place to rehash all the names and places of my past.
Or is it?
Guess I'll do what the audience desires.
If there is an audience.
*Is this thing on?*
Get in the car. Turn the key. Engine starts-- put it in gear. Here we go.
Don't forget your seatbelt.
I've got piles. Stacks of paper on my desk, in boxes. All for inspiration at a later date.
Today's that later date. Time to get, as my therapist put it, a spiritual enema.
I want to write about my past. I want to tell of the stories that I thought were important then. Are they still important? Time will have to tell.
I was a boy back then. Young. You may not have guessed just by looking at me. But it's true. I was just 18 years old and I'd found the person I thought I wanted to spend my life with. Problem was, I was timid, I was shy, and I wasn't sure she wanted what I wanted. And I was scared that if I asked, the truth would be something I just couldn't bear. So I was quietly friendly and cautious. Slow. Hopefully romantic. Hopeful. But exasperatingly cautious. And timid. And frozen from acting on my greatest of intentions.
I set this all up because I hope to transcribe what I wrote longhand so many years ago. But not here; this is not the place to rehash all the names and places of my past.
Or is it?
Guess I'll do what the audience desires.
If there is an audience.
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