This is my outlet, my everything. I have used this blog as my sounding board, my billboard, my trumpet, my twitter, it is whatever I have wanted it to be. That is what blogging is about. In two years I have grown a lot because of WordPress. I could never do justice to what this blog has given back to me even if I were to list the myriad of reasons. What do you see? A viral blog? A popular blog? Not either of those. What you see is hard work that can be done by you, you, and you. Don’t allow the limitations of others to anchor you to their reality. Create your own.
They will say you can’t do this or that. They will nod their heads and roll their eyes. They will never share your passion. Fuck them if they can’t expand their minds to see your vision. They are too busy looking at their feet.
You can do anything you want with a blog. The only ones that say you can’t are the ones that never tried. Those people defeat themselves every morning. Be you.
You spun a web a perfect web and lured me right in. I came skipping by, innocently by, right into it. I got mad, cursed a few gods, and then ran and found a shoe. Do you know who is screwed, so totally screwed? You.
Winter night of stars and light. An empty glass stands as the past. I see myself in the reflection staring back. Sharded image colored like ice… it is me. Each image a perfect imagination and yet they have reality’s eyes. I slay them slowly to remember the pain. It is not a demon, it is me. And with that acceptance I look not to the sky. I look to myself.
Imagine if forgotten crumbs could be gathered as a meal for the needy. If wasted feelings could be bundled into hugs for those that desperately need comfort. Would the world become a better place or instead would different problems arise in the place of the fallen.
Imagine if children no longer went to bed hungry. What if parents could also fall asleep without sacrifice each night? What would god do with his free time if he no longer had the field the calls of the hungry each night?
Imagine a utopia where no wishes were needed. Individual cares would be met and the only complaint to be heard would be cries over a stolen thought. What type of world would that be?
And will you drift off to die silently at sea? Leaving little more than a whisper to be remembered by?
Not I. No not me.
I wake to the same task at hand. I stack words and phrases redundantly in hopes of fortifying myself against the curse of despair. Like a wolf I see her prowling outside waiting for a moment of weakness.
My fingers type in their sleep. With the mind separated from mundane weaknesses I feel a release. Or at least I dream I do. My dreams are improbable realities that attempt to pull me down. I flee from them by opening my eyes. This action shatters internal images and pushes me into my motions for the day.
I make these motions with little to no emotion. The lack is not missed by vacant eyes that barely recognize the type of cereal I shovel into my mouth. My children run around me… their laughter attempts to liven the atmosphere. My head hovers above the clouds.
I will not silently die. Before I leave this earth I will gather all my words in a pile. Every poem, written piece, or random expression I have ever penned will be thrown to the ground at my feet. I will light my words on fire with the desire to be remembered. Allowing my words to burn bright, it matters not how silently I depart this world.