There are so many reasons I could cite for not posting about what’s quite frankly been an extraordinary 6 months, I mean the bottom line is I didn’t feel like it, but what’s interesting to look at is why. Apathy and anxiety around this self perpetuating idea that what I’m offering is nowhere near good enough, poor little me! Falling into traps of having to produce something profound so other people would hold an image of me that I want them to believe in, is something I had unconsciously honed into a fine art, disguising it from myself in so many ways. Until it all cracked open recently in a spate of self destructive illumination. Nobody is looking for anything but the truth. They don’t give a shit about your convoluted self indulgent ramblings or attempts at elevating yourself with to an imaginary plateau of people that aren’t folly to human situations and painful feelings. Cut the bullshit, no more pain avoiding, here’s truth, I’m just as messed up as you, and probably an even bigger freak.

My life is weird, and very wonderful, beyond measure almost, sometimes I remember that, and gawk at how lucky I am, and sometimes I just wallow in a sludge of self pity berating myself to tears. Last year I decided to live retrospectively, giving up the idea that I knew what the fuck I was doing by going somewhere, like, we have these ideas, I’m going to this place to do such and such and visit here and have a jolly nice time. No. Here’s more truth; nobody knows why anybody is going anywhere or doing anything or why things happen, everybody’s winging it, and nobody knows what the fuck is going on. Kind of a relief to feel that isn’t it? No more pressure, no more expectation. But it brings a lot of anxiety, the idea that you’ll just go somewhere without a plan to see what wants to happen, so usually I’d mask that by pretending to know what I was doing and why. But getting real, WTAF (what the actual fuck) do I know about anything? Spirituals band around the idea of trust and surrender, I mean yea, its a great idea, but what about the truth? Forget the graceful majestic surrender of my dreams where I float gently into a wavy utopia of dancing quantum particles, how about a clinging, clutching, scrambling surrender that leaves you flailing and defecating in terror while it pounds you into submission, ripping what you think you know from your bleeding white knuckles?

A surrender to an actual reality. It never lets you down.