" We are all, if we already knew it, already there"

"Little boy you're not allowed to stay
You have to evolve inevitably
And I've sure come a long way

The road up ahead is so unclear
Back slidin down the bottom of beer
Nobody knew if I would make it here"
-Cee-Lo Green

I've been embroiled in a mythological love story since sometime shortly after the day I learned to fly. Eye-gouging tales of deceit and passion be damned; my scars are all healed and my eyes, while intact, see the overwrought capacity for everything around me to fail or succeed. What I've learned in the last few years screams a clarion across the physical path I've taken. She-I sits next to me-her. She-I keeps me-her going. From the laps of mediocrity to the slum of all slums, across this once-free nation to a place that reminds me of the future I always dreamed of. This is her path too.

Fuck prophecy, I refuse to bolt-down anything as dustblown as the day after tommorrow. And yet there's no faking it. Some of these things were meant to happen. Even if the only divnity steering them was some universal element of me. Something we all have and wield when we need to. And while no words I send will make you understand this, I've seen everything with that third eye.

There's nothing hard about this, except admitting that. Even in the most severe declines your bhindu-prana will carry you. Even in that darkest day death can be your solace or your impetus. I don't want to die yet, I know that, and I don't think I could until I'd given it my best. I want to be the Buddha freeing my fellow man from his mental chains, etching lessons upon the rocks, subsisting on the impossible margins simply to bend reality. I want to be Nietzche, leaving a twisted, contradicted memoir of my dreams so that young children will have the courage to defy their parents. I'm humbled by my inability, but I want these words to change the world.

I've known fear, still know it well. But have come to understand it's place. There are times to spit upon it, times to neglect it, times to sail into it guns blazing, and the very rare time to acknowledge it. This is not the fear of violence or rapists in the alley, this is the fear of life itself. Forgive my sudden spirituality, but we were not born by an act of fear. And neither should we live by them.


Pull a lesson from this ethos; like a flower from a meadow. Time heals no wounds, and yet I can only credit my occasional tendency to float in it's cool current to any success. Sometimes point feet downstream and grit teeth, sometimes fight for air and relief, sometimes reach the opposite shore and bask in the sun survival proves you worthy of. Always know when it's time to swim again.

I feel wise sometimes, like I should gather children around to tell stories to. But when they appear, laughing and creating, I see that I still belong among them. And I hope that I always will.