If the cobbler of the town is a carping, gossiping, hypocritical, bastard, it makes me want to stop wearing shoes while still needing foot protection. When the leaders of the church care only for the theology which they have created, it makes me want to chuck all institutionalized form of religion while still needing my God.

Oh Destiny, Destiny

You very quickly begin to feel like a piñata in a world of ten-year-old bullies when the only thing you are known for is something you did not, cannot, and will never be able to do as a result of a striping failure to achieve. When identity attempts to salvage it’s broken shell pieces there is immediate condescension and disdain from onlookers, as if my piñata might as well be filled with shriveled and scorned prunes. It is as if people think I want what I got. True or False? FALSE – I hate what my life has resulted in, so I walk self-blindfolded and schlumping down a Carolina Blue plank for the next however many years.

Rubber Band Ball

Isn’t it frustrating how when someone you respect and look up to disagrees with you for the first time, they instantly fall from their respect throne to a prickly pin cushion of resentment, while you shrink into severe moments of self-pity, offense, and flared individualism. It is very unhealthy to be this way, I really should stop. But the more the people around me start to disagree or try or correct and maybe even out of well-intentioned help, I instantly recoil and use it as affirmation for my newly-being-explored solitude. Maybe this is the evil twin of the attitude I should have had a long time ago to be able to “foundationalize” who I am apart from this bee-hive of a world around me. But then again, I’m pretty good at rationalizing my horrifically helixed insights to conform to something I know I need and want; life’s a pretty easy lie to live when you make your own logic. Though, if I don’t make my own, I’m just conforming to someone else’s predisposed understanding of the way things should be for themselves. And since I’m me, and the problem of the matter is that I am allowing other people to mold my character clay, then using my own logic to apply to my own self should be the key to the secret garden, my friends. But please use caution, because for someone like myself who needs some method of personal checks and balances, or at least I fear not having one for the in-return fear of morphing my life into an indiscernible ball of all my internality, well that’s just it. And thus no matter how much I could ever try to disprove the existence of something larger than myself, the rubberband ball-through-a-paper shredder of a mess my life is capable of being and many times is, gives me all the more understanding of my need for an Ultimate Standard. Because frankly, friends, people disappoint and lead you astray, but it’s a lot easier to do that to yourself.

Tight Ropin'

Everyday I walk the line between uneasy and easy. I walk this line of mine surrounded by people that I have to decide are worth pulling me off my tight rope to make relationships. Very few people do I find worthy of such distraction. But sometimes I stop and I make an east-to-west scan, and occasionally I see a new poppy that may be worth stepping aside to snatch. But if that poppy is rotten or smells even the least bit stinky and mocks my whole attempt to let a little joy in my life, I resent all flowers. I then start, head hung, back to my line and keep on a tiptoe’n wondering why flowers hate me so much.

The iron-heavy droplets of my pensiveness

It’s an undecipherable flood. Not a rush, but a flood because I stand shoulder deep in a stagnant pool of my own thoughts. And in the most intense moment of my dislike for this water, I’m sometimes tempted to surrender to it’s aqua layers and go down like a heroic sailor shot in the battle by some rusty musket. But when the flood has receded, dried up, and evaporated, my gills yearn for some relief and I almost wish it back. And when I’ve done my rain dance and hopped in hooting circles all my heart allows, it comes trickling down, collects, and I find myself once again standing in this burdensome flood I love so much.

Mine Own Words

To walk alone is still walking. To stand alone is still standing. There is a purpose in the life you live merely by still having life. You are born with a purpose driven life, you cannot acquire it from the pages of some man's written fortune. But to flee not too far from the mother point here, speaking into darkness for no one to hear and sending your preciously-crafted words into a world of distracted, uninterested peoples is actually enlivening. I have no audience to please or crowd to make cheer or birds to make flap their wings; all I have is the air I breathe to please myself, and it’s not too easily scared away. There is an addiction to an absolute loneliness, and by that word I mean no onslaught of negativity or old-man’s tears, all I mean is “literality,” and if you will, alone-li-ness. Happiness can come from others with which you share your life, but for me, in this moment of typage, I’m going to go with… um NO. I drink my solidarity for energy and am loving the taste of it.

A Building's Wisdom

Do not go where there is a path.
Go where there is no path
and leave a trail.

Barking Inspiration

What I found at the bottom of someone else's bottle, however, is an awareness of how deeply and fundamentally I am exactly like them and every other hurting, broken person on this planet. I, too, am manifesting the symptoms of the disease of self-love, believing that I can diagnose the problem and with hard work and a good roll of duct tape I can patch it all back together.

Banjo's Two-sense

When animals run into the road, they are committing suicide.
It is your obligation to help them out.

Whitty Boy

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.