This is what I want to do with myself, with my life. I want to put myself inside these pages, into these little scribed words to reveal who I am. What am I as a person and how can I translate that into these words, reflection expression. I have to write to get it all out, there are these worms inside me and they need to tunnel or creep out of my body, my spirit, to release this inner thing which has no words. That ineffable Thing that’s in all of us. The superego, the driveshaft, the incomparable essence residing in this limited body. I can feel it sometimes, that real me peeping through, that murky essential scratching at the door. It’s like I’m spending so much of my life trying to configure the right combination of words to say what this Thing is, what it thinks and feels, what I am really about. Maybe it’s the soul I’m talking about, the mysterious quality that defines us, separates and conjoins us as a species of higher potential. Whatever word I settle on it is the force that keeps me going, it haunts me and propels me to an end that seems peaceful, when everything is settled and I’ve said what needed to be said, what I yearned for in dumb youth. The only thing I yearn for anymore and what keeps me going in this booze-fueled psychotrauma romp I paraded myself into over the years of many mistakes many moons.
This haunts me now, at least how I think of haunting, brooding over it all and this smoky air around me enveloping my motivations, my purpose. I never had purpose or direction and now I meander along some highway of vague destination, looking to walk it all the way. Maybe my thumbs are broken, or I’ve lost the humility or courage to ask for help. I have this idea of myself not needing anyone which is far from true, I must be the super man, the rough tough hero who solves everything like in the movies. Raised on this diet of over the top machismo and independence I fluster and flump around making attempts at braving adversity, to be the Solid Snake, but more an aluminum cog grinding for the sake of it. Click click goes the teeth of the rotating piece, blood and oil grease the parts that are my whole, the shebang bus drifting along ditching dead weight like willow trees bending and stretching and letting loose their leaf tears.
I am loose, meant to be flexible and adaptable, meant to ride with the valkyries towards battle. Battle with the self, life, dark tides and the shallow depravity of all and sundry. In the midst of a brain drain brain transference to RAM receptors. Feel alone and can’t help judging; pessimistic hater fighting with his sides, ripping hair out mentally to become Lex Luthor bald and seething with ego. Deliver me from vainglorious turpitude and splay me on an altar to forgive myself, to realize the worth of a fighting chance, of an underdog barking at the night. Click click.