Thursday, September 8, 2011

It is Highly Possible . . . That I'm Wrong.

Very, very wrong.  About almost everything.  Most importantly, about the things I've thought I was so damn right about.  All is not lost, though at times I feel vaguely like I'm searching for scraps of meaning in the mess of my personal history, and if I find them, I could be wrong about them, too. Very wrong.

And that's scary.  Because I like to have full-fledged meaning, even if murky and ambiguous.  It is dramatic and exiting and uplifting.  And the past is rife with examples and complexity, and all the stuff that could, basically, almost justify any story I want to tell.  So, if I work from a point of justification, I can get anywhere I want to go, basically, which is the land of self-delusion--and although it is a long trip back, well, there are rest stops with those neat little slot machines (smile), and I think I'm trying to make it back, ultimately. 

Here's one thing I wish. I wish that I spent time producing something, some good, even if entertainment (like art) and not utility, just to have something to show for the past, you know, instead of all this scar tissue.  Because even reading the patterns off the scars is difficult and, when one emerges, well, it throws me off for a day or two anyway and creates a new crevice. 

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