Remebering.

I am writing this to me as reminder.

I have lost track of how many times I have attempted to step beyond the narrow edges of my skill and become/evolve/grow into something/someone/somehow better.

It is a gift to think you are brilliant, the total refusal to accept reality, to accept limitation, gives this moron his head to run free with wild horses leaping over rough ground towards the mountain top where it all awaits.

"What was I thinking" has become my catch cry, the horror movie child’s voice chant background song to my days.

And that is just it, I wasn’t thinking, I am never really thinking, just allowing my mind to dance along to its own beat, travelling roads I have no experience of, and therefore, no right to write.

I am ashamed of my lack of self, how I cannot really accept that deep inside, I have a story to tell, in its misshapen evolution of blood, water, lust and hate, and somewhere, an abiding passion that swallows all before it, a great consuming beast of need that shambles through my dreams and devours days and nights with equal disregard. My denial of myself is my greatest achievement of all.

I have heaved the spade, thrown the sod, patted down the clay, buried me far deeper than the sun can penetrate, and it is so cool here, beneath.

Sometimes, I got it right, and said something just the way it needed to be spoken, elicited the words to tell a worthwhile tale.

But mostly, I am full of shit, and sick to death of it.

And this is to remind me, so that each time I allow my fucking puffed up sugar daddy of an ego to take over and spit out , regugitate, vomit up , shiney slick and self serving dollops of bullshit, I will remember

This is not who I am
or how it is
or what should be said.

My penance

will be remembering.