whatever there is to say, and say it again
because the first-time didn't really make it here
(maybe the words did...or some of them, but not the weight or the meaning)
it AaaaaaaLL leeked out on the way home.
All the bumps, and all the jolts.
my shocks are worn and bent.
Begone doubt and rage! (pleeeeeeeeease!)
it is NOT your fault and the words were not as important as the feeling within/behind/around
the words.
By the time i wind down for the day, i am wound up with silence, solace and no urge for creativity left to foster remembering any that i had during the hustle of the day (the brilliance of a momentous inspiration).
There is a vague thought of being sober of religion. sober of dogma. sober of shame.
shit.
that's all it is i guess. that is means to be sober of SOME of the things i have been fighting, or rather, reckoning with. It's not all negative, really. I sort of cherish all these memorized scriptures, idioms and standards I have attained and withdrawn from to look at, and yet not fully shed. Whoo is it getting hot in here...
