Life is the story we tell ourselves;

The internal litany of who we are vs the external actions we take. The conflict points, the breaking points,  are where our actions run contrary to the litany;  for the most part this is not a breaking, in truth, but is instead a slow disintegration.
Eventually this erosion leads to either a breakdown,  if the self was  brittle or an epiphany ,  if the self was flexible;   as we age the natural inclination is to allow our self to wear down into comfortable grooves; but this very comfort leads to a hardening of the self which leads to the brittleness aforementioned;
Into this we inject the maelstrom other people and we are forced to make a choice;  to be the pillar or the reed;  to allow others to shape us or to bend  but still have our core intact; I suppose it comes down to how confident you are;
Are you enough without the influence of others?  Are you desirous enough of change to make your own choices to shape your own self? Are you conscious enough to make that choice?


It is strange when sex and pain are the center of a relationship.  Maybe especially so when it starts that way.  And especially so when you are the outsider in an open marriage.  I’ve met her husband and he’s cool with it.  And my Intuition isn’t throwing any red flags.  I think as long as it stays a top/bottom relationship he’ll be fine but I want more than that.  So I thought I’d share this out with a bunch of strangers to see if it helps me work through it.  I think I’ll ask them out on a date and see where it goes.  If it goes. 

Band stuff

Writing lyrics is interesting when the full extent of the band is you singing and a bassist.  Essentially the rhythms need to hang as counterpoint to the music.  Interweaving the harmony with the bass line.  There is both more room to experiment, not being hedged in by both the egos of other musicians and the instrumentation.  Still I wish we had someone else to collaborate with. I say this after 6 months of practices and we are really getting the tunes down to the point where playing somewhere might be an option.  It’s like I’m looking for a acceptable reason to slow us down.  Self sabotage and self realization, hand in hand.

Passing thought

The ubiquitous They say that “Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.”  In a way they are right.  Inability to weave a counterpoint to Chaos’ tune can prove fatal.  Dancing order from chaos or merely sidestepping the fallen debris is a skill that should be developed to the extent of your ability.  But consistency helps build on that ability.  The fallen pieces need to be used or civilization dies.  And barbarism is a hell  that humanity has and had a hard time waking from. 


The fallacy of the self,  is that the only way to act, believe, worship, experience joy or pain,  to fail or succeed, is the way that you yourself do these things.  Inability to see the different paths, different journeys,  to these ends is not good or bad.  What it is, is simply human.  We see the world through a myopic lense.  One composed of our needs and desires.  To transcend this we need to look at the other side,  not just accept but experience it.  The human mind is infinitely malleable.  What we state we believe becomes what is.  And using this tool we can find empathy for any state.  But be warned,  you must step lightly,  for the use of this method can destroy the self that began the journey. And if you are lost, then that self becomes lost forever.

Promises kept

So I promised I would post this as soon as created.  Consider this Wednesday’s post. 

A suddenness of fire
To throbbing ache
Again and again
Until there is only fire
Waives wracking
Pains pulsing glamour
Coupled gasp
Pleasure bounding forward
Hearts pounding
Straining for surcease

Quietly now
Tumbling out ecstatic
The fire sated
Fevere reverie
Into lethe

No title

You ever want a minute of quiet.  A moment of stillness,  everything fading to a background hum.  Then falling away until even that is silent.  To just be for a while.  Without ambition, need or desire.  I experienced that once.  I was a year out of high school,  it was autumn.  I was walking down the street away from a class I was skipping to catch a bus.  It was what I call a stolen day.  You tell no one.  Any obligation,  you walk away from.  For one day you persue a journey.  Without a net.  No means of contacting anyone.  I used to do that alot.  And this particular day was like those.  But as I walked,  a breeze flowed by.  Soft, tentative like your first kiss.  And I looked up,  shifting wisp thin clouds skimming across the sky,  the sun pouring down warmth.  The world slowed, then stopped.  A perfect crystalline moment,  it stretched, then was gone.  Not a snapping back,  but as if it had never been. 

A mediocre idea continued

In my younger days,  I had power.  Power I wielded like a hammer.  With it I shaped myself and my world.  I helped build a dream.  A shining example brought low by a tide of petty evils.  By the end my friends were dead and our allies scattered to the winds.  So much power,  power enough to shape a world but not enough to keep it.  I was so tired but the fires of creation singing through me would not let me die.  People say that I was tricked into the tree.  In reality it was the only oblivion I could craft for myself.  I slept fitfully, the passing years playing out as a dream.  Something wrent the tree from its mooring and I stumbled out.  Kept strong by its roots deep into the Well.  I blinked and saw sunlight for the first time in more than a thousand years, just as a bright sword stabbed out of the sky with a keaning wail.  The roar was deafening, the howl of metal tearing.  I didn’t think.  I lashed out with my will.  Anything to make the noise stop.  Now they laud me a hero.  When what I am is just a frightened old man.