a blank page @ 4:38 pm - oh my · i’d planned avocado sandwich on dark rye and found my toaster not only with too narrow an opening but the 3-prong male plug without a willing and accommodating 3-hole female receptacle - metaphor is everything. The news reports describe a weather condition the size of the entire country which has provided me refuge, sanctuary and education since July of 2019; i am indebted with little resource to repay besides a cash outlay which may evapaporate after the election referendum 3 November 2020. The results may provide humanity with a breather while the corporate overlords fashion the last links in the chain, or result in a full scale putsch that will render Burning the Reichstag of 1932 a minor trashcan fire as a footnote of little historical import.
Last night i expressed my sincere admiration for the beauty of a “doe eyed serving wench”, who if one peered deeper is profoundly funny with an acerbic wit beyond her years. I know this from fb video of her displaying her new T-Shirt booty scripted with “If Sad was a Bird, I’d be High as Fuck.” Though she be just 21, this alone was enough to coax me from my lair, 2 full decades younger than my grandmother was when she married my grandfather 20 years her senior. Time is nigh, and if Rembrandt’s angel model is to arrive in time enough for me to create with whatever crumbling creative capacity the universe wishes to preserve of my beleaguered existence, i’m game, for i’m way past the catechism of my youth and completely prepared to embrace - “as you wish is as you end.”
I want to be happy, what provides me happiness in my world has been intense creative effort with the minimum of strife and rancor, however much my own built-in instigation inflamed each new opportunity to the contrary. I sit here, aging and more timid by the minute knowing that whatever bravery i may have felt in life has mostly been the result of a beautiful woman working the tethers of my soul. I’m not even sure anymore whether i would entertain that ever receding conceit of autonomy i had set my compass to guided by the hand of many generations' hubris of self-will, hiding behind obeisance parading as independent thought.
One can hope, and one can determine, but what one cannot do is fake it. The deeper i plunge into the caverns of the only terrain i will ever know for sure - my own heart · the more i doubt all that what i’ve held sacred and have wondered about is simply what i have abjured. “What you resist, persists.” - C.G. Jung · How is it possible to reconcile the depravity of our entire species with condemnation of any one element. How can i sit here and claim superiority over d. _rump, when i cannot faithfully renounce the greed and hatred he has uncovered in my own heart, if only by my repulsion to every gesture he makes and every nerve he scabs.
I do not want to be shut off by the cartoon character who may very well be appointed Hizzonner of planet Gotham. If i am to die, i would, as he will certainly do so - naked to the bone · If there are stories to be told or anyone left to tell them to, i'd like to have died content knowing that i was as honest to you as my times would allow; and i allow between the darkness that is my own heart and what i have torn loose to share is a vast gulf. This chasm between what i know to be true about myself and what i share is not from deceit on my part, but from a lack of courage. I know how hard it has been for me to face my defects, my evil and my fear; i honestly see no point in rubbing your nose in my, what i feel to be filth; this reluctance of mine is from shame, and excoriating judgement which is mine alone to shoulder. Were i to open my heart to you and describe the depth of my depravity as i see it - i will have in some way asked you to carry a burden that is not yours. Where i am willing and able to share another’s burden, that is a choice i make, but to leave mine by the side of the road like toxic waste in a walmart sack for another to carry away is chickenshit; that is as honest as i can get for this writing.
jts 01/11/2020
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