It's hard to understand these thoughts.
It's late. No later than I'm used to but I'm tired and I feel battered and broken. I've been living in a tempest after so long in tranquility that I'm grasping at ferns in a field that's been burned down and demolished for another fucking 'soon-to-be-failed' manufacturing plant.
Fuck.
How does one begin to process distilled madness and chaos and bliss and family and love and things you can't begin to even fathom? How do you make sense of the center of a tornado?
Moses doing crunches. I need another drink.
It's that weird hour where even the most night-hawkish friends I know are bunkering down, bracing for another day of reality. And yet here I am, stuck in a cognitive loop and trying to drown it all out with stimulants and vodka and the most beautifully depressive music a lonesome soul can find. I look around my apartment; this cabin in the urban woods that once was my retreat from the cold realities of the day has been injected with life, with lives. A diaspora of wanderlust souls have invaded my isolation and I am so much more the better for it.
But of course there's that little asshole sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear nothing but negativity and sorrow and self-pity. He's been stapled there for what feels like an eternity. He tries to tell me that I've made a grave mistake; that I'm not worth the love around me. He sabotages me at every single step along the way, trying to convince me that I'm too fucked in the head and too broken in the heart to be apart from my isolation; too fucked up to be a part of something more. He looks a lot like me.
And then I look at the slumbering faces around me... I think of those luminous torches that are not in the room but whose fire burns so fucking bright I'm scared I'll burn myself. I look back at the pictures we've taken over the last two yea...wait, fuck, no... the last two weeks. How does such a short period of time have the gravitas of several lifetimes?
I'm fidgeting. The anxiety monster is close.
I close my eyes and lean into the slipstream daydream of my memories with these bodhisattvas. Two miraculous spirits learning to play and sing and harmonize together; family I never thought I'd have bandied together over Amuuricah's birthday which included really lousy tequila shots; three people lazing on a couch talking shit while watching 'Stranger Things' ; the simple joy of a friend you love beyond reason giving you a hug as you pass by in the shift change.
I am terrified. I am not prone to change. I am hurt, and I have lived that way for so long that I didn't think I'd remember what it felt like to feel anything different. Yet despite all that, here I stand on the edge of a precipice... ready to take one of the greatest risks of my life because I have power and force and creativity and love backing me. These beautifully flawed and wonderfully scattered and immeasurably unconquerable saints saved me when I didn't even know I needed to be saved.
There is no force in this world stronger than love. And there is no love stronger than that which we choose.
It's late. No later than I'm used to but I'm tired and I feel battered and broken. I've been living in a tempest after so long in tranquility that I'm grasping at ferns in a field that's been burned down and demolished for another fucking 'soon-to-be-failed' manufacturing plant.
Fuck.
How does one begin to process distilled madness and chaos and bliss and family and love and things you can't begin to even fathom? How do you make sense of the center of a tornado?
Moses doing crunches. I need another drink.
It's that weird hour where even the most night-hawkish friends I know are bunkering down, bracing for another day of reality. And yet here I am, stuck in a cognitive loop and trying to drown it all out with stimulants and vodka and the most beautifully depressive music a lonesome soul can find. I look around my apartment; this cabin in the urban woods that once was my retreat from the cold realities of the day has been injected with life, with lives. A diaspora of wanderlust souls have invaded my isolation and I am so much more the better for it.
But of course there's that little asshole sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear nothing but negativity and sorrow and self-pity. He's been stapled there for what feels like an eternity. He tries to tell me that I've made a grave mistake; that I'm not worth the love around me. He sabotages me at every single step along the way, trying to convince me that I'm too fucked in the head and too broken in the heart to be apart from my isolation; too fucked up to be a part of something more. He looks a lot like me.
And then I look at the slumbering faces around me... I think of those luminous torches that are not in the room but whose fire burns so fucking bright I'm scared I'll burn myself. I look back at the pictures we've taken over the last two yea...wait, fuck, no... the last two weeks. How does such a short period of time have the gravitas of several lifetimes?
I'm fidgeting. The anxiety monster is close.
I close my eyes and lean into the slipstream daydream of my memories with these bodhisattvas. Two miraculous spirits learning to play and sing and harmonize together; family I never thought I'd have bandied together over Amuuricah's birthday which included really lousy tequila shots; three people lazing on a couch talking shit while watching 'Stranger Things' ; the simple joy of a friend you love beyond reason giving you a hug as you pass by in the shift change.
I am terrified. I am not prone to change. I am hurt, and I have lived that way for so long that I didn't think I'd remember what it felt like to feel anything different. Yet despite all that, here I stand on the edge of a precipice... ready to take one of the greatest risks of my life because I have power and force and creativity and love backing me. These beautifully flawed and wonderfully scattered and immeasurably unconquerable saints saved me when I didn't even know I needed to be saved.
There is no force in this world stronger than love. And there is no love stronger than that which we choose.
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