Sunday, December 06, 2015

The Fear And The Fog

Tonight, on an early December afternoon, I took a moment to stop the schedule and just write. Let my thoughts out on the loose. Into the wild, untethered winter air. There's been a lot going on, friends - and I don't just mean in my life, but in the lives of so many around the hurting globe that it's humbling to think of it all and try and pay homage to the horror and the beauty in my meager, oft-short-falling words. 

This season is an insane one for me. I don't stop. I jag. I move. I take side roads. I choose the short path. I get to where I need to be and I go. 

There's a million ways to look at this life. Maybe even more than that. To some, it's a blessing. They pop out from birth into wet, frightening humanhood with a smile and Jiminy Cricket attitude. They pump their fists and say 'oddsmakers be damned', and they forge their path. 

To others, this life is the infidel, and from day one - whether it is imagined or real - this life is a curse. It's a constant virus that stays dormant in the lungs of your consciousness. They see enemies. They see others wanting what they want, and they compete and they scratch and they claw and make backwards progress - like a running back trying to fight off four linemen twice his size. 

I hate guns. I always have. Sure, I've played with pellet guns with a few friends for country shits and giggles, but anytime an unsafe ness was felt, those injury machines got holstered. 

When I see all of the beauty around me, I find it so hard and so maddening and so motherfucking unfair that people who I don't even know - music loving people much like me - were slain by the bullets of automatic weaponry. 

There is enough shit in this world without cowards who open fire on rooms of unsuspecting souls. Cancer. Famine. Depression. Anxiety. Suicide. 

From these hellish moments, our existence will indicate how we move forward. We will either look to blame others, or we will look inward. And we might even drop the blame - like a smoking gun from another timeline that we've willfully chosen to forget about. 

I don't know much, but I know that you need to know what you have. And where you have it. And to let the gratitude wash over you like a late day winter sunset that pinks up a cold blue sky into a technicolor explosion of warmth and memory. And yes - there will be fog. There will be hurt. And more hard times. And even probably more guns. But hopefully, we can move through the fog - and take on the unknown with a reckless abandon that says 'fuck the unknown and all of the hidden gun toting fear mongers, because they will not get me'. 
And hell, I may have found someone to move through the fog with. We might even dance right through it. 

In any case, I just felt the need to let my pen bleed. Let's push on, and blow up the clock and the hate-bank and find the real currency. 

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