Heroic Patterns

It's hard to say what I like best. The visceral, vivid sensation. That wave of premeditated schizophrenia. The soft edges of things and the way the world breathes at you. Reminding myself that I am capable of tremendously poor judgment. Not my usual dipshittery either. Genuine clear-eyed, true-believer poor judgement. I said Amen, and thought of Josh.

It's familiar, all at the same time. Like a family member you only think of when you see them, and then all the feelings come rushing back.

The egoism of it. Standing in the middle of a field, at noon, with the sun bright and hot and directly above my head. Wind and clouds and birds orbiting...like the world revolves around me. In my own defense, without that arrogance, I don't think I'd make it through.

But I do. Every time. And I'm pleased as fucking punch with myself. Every time.

There's more, there's always more.

Changing gears, and by way of apology, you should know I don't feel as though there's value in trying to make this relevant*. Sometimes these are wholeheartedly broadband-sometime's they're a cheap alternative to a conversation with a specific "you". I was able to say the same thing to two different people at once recently. In real life, I mean. Call this that, again.

Regardless, I feel like I've been mirroring the rest of you, and I have a terrible feeling this is not a good idea. I couldn't say for whom.

So this isn't important, per se, in as much as it's meant to convey anything relevant.** It's just my attempt at rendering down what I'm thinking about, as clear a sense of me as I can provide at the moment, in the state I'm in. And I'm hoping that in itself lends relevance to those of you who I imagine reading this. I won't sleep, wouldn't sleep. Sunrise.



*I would not discourage you from assuming that "this" may be broader than the scope of my blog.

**I hope to retire off the irony I manufacture trying to put caveats on my cryptic. You've been here before, you know what to expect.