The more people read the harder I should try, right?

You know, to make shit good– To write beautiful things. Make it sound smart and real and sharp and honest.

Yeah, you know, in all my spare time.

I’ve written this blog at least three times in my head throughout the course of today– for what it’s worth– tricky thing is, though, I probably wouldn’t write with such clarity without the chaos– that is– the busy-ness– and then again– given the time to write more eloquently I’d probably muff it up– you know? Make a slow, lazy mess of it, which is often much worse. It’s a juggling act, but I’ve discussed this before. We know this is not new.

I digress,

I wanted to write something about truth tonight actually.

About being authentic. Or at least trying to be.

About all the people you piss off along the way. Without trying. The ones that just always seem to be upset, unsettled, either way. Most of the time.

I wanted to write about how I flat lined today: Hormones. Reality. A long tasting at work. A few rude pricks. A rather unimpressive pay packet. A belly full of dreams and all the time it takes to make things happen. So much time. Sometimes it seems to take too long. All of it. Any of it. Most of it.

Yeah, I wanted to write about all that.

But, now it’s 10:24pm and I’m weary. I’m listening to Love Song Dedications again, my new Thursday night staple. I’ve just had dinner with some friends and WHAM BAM the day has taken yet another course of action.

Which is another tricky thing.

You set out to write about one thing and then find yourself more consumed by something else– yet that something else is still too new. Out of respect, if it’s a really vulnerable thing, I tend not to write about it right away. It takes time. You know? You have to earn it. You have to know when it’s ready. Like a little kid that’s old enough to walk to school on it’s own. Or ride a bicycle without training wheels or something else, I suppose, you’re almost ready to set free– You don’t discuss it. You just wait. And then… when the time is right… you let it go. Whatever it is. You don’t talk about it in between. That’d be rigid. Self-serving. Which is different to being honest, if you think about it.

So I’m in a state. I feel like getting really fucking loose actually. Really loose.

I shant though. Because that goes against the grain, grates against the plan, won’t get me where I want to go.

Can’t write.
Can’t dance.
Can’t fly.

I also can’t shit, which was what I really wanted to write about…

Next time.

You lose your grip, and then you slip into the Masterpiece.


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