We pray for another way of being:
another way of knowing.
Across the difficult terrain of our existence
we have attempted to build a highway
and in so doing have lost our footpath.Continue Reading »
I am stressed, I am bent out of shape. There are external forces rallied against me. I do not feel self pity, I don’t hold pity parties, I don’t require your charity or your good will. I want to be honest with you, I want to be frank. But I don’t know how, because we settle for the immediacy of stupidity. We’ve become gluttonous pigs, incurably self loving. There’s no room in there, we retreat to our safe places, our inner man caves, our preferred realities.
I’m not judging, but I am. I want to say all the wrong things in order to make things right again. I think the 80’s were better than today. How much fucked upness until we’ve obliterated our own destitute souls?
In the years afterward, I fled whenever somebody began to understand me. That has subsided. But one thing remained: I don’t want anybody to understand me completely. I want to go through life unknown. The blindness of others is my safety and my freedom.
Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon
I begin writing anew, I can’t get myself to calling it blogging. Blogging is well, harping witty for mass consumption. I’m a bit of an introverted kind of cat, always have been. Really, I don’t write to appease narcissistic tendencies, I’m really quite humble. Though I do love pretending to be this flashy sonofabitch who is pretty cocky, goofy, and highly unpredictable.
That said, it was even more difficult now to even know what I wanted to write about, much less write for. I didn’t want to undertake a typical sweet niche blog where I wrote all of this cutesy crap, or this mind jarring shit that galvanized and seduced at random. I already stated and meant that I’m not trying here. And in not trying, I’m trying really hard Continue Reading »