Pulling what off

 January 26th 2011

I think sometime between my long battle with depression, I must have landed somewhere else, I don't know where this is or why I've failed.

There is a definite ring of fire, that lay beyond my soul, because I've seen what it means.

Now that I am free of such a burden on myself, that part of me that only cares about what comes to the surface commercially. I am independent from myself acting as - as a commodity issue to those false perceptions of reality.

It is because of my effort, this light turned inward than outward that poetry becomes prose, that prose becomes a timeless narrative configured into concepts - that those concepts became figments of your mind. That I established such patterns in thinking, I did not put there?

I hate myself.
I hated others for not seeing me.

I project these things into false self perceptions, that require nothing.

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When it comes to a form of my better sense of self, the same question escaped me every time. How is it I am unworthy, yet responsive, to my hidden happiness. Was it ever beyond my reaches, is it behind a door left to be opened, if not, then why am I so unhappy.

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I just want my hair to grow, until it needs no more. I want myself to better govern my personal needs, for satisfying my vaguer notion of reality run amok. I similarly choose to acknowledge such indifference of conscious allure.

My true wish for myself is to add, everything I made up to this point, my sense of duty. A duty to call a rose a rose, to make her insecurity a thing she invests in my genius masculinity, that my prize possession in life is to let it go to charity.

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When I am only human, when she turns and walks away without so much as a stumble or a fall, my mind is filled with it. When she smiles without actually realizing I am there for her needs, I fear her distress. It is my signal to call upon her name, but she is not a willing dance partner.

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Someone I need a prize for that.^