SunDAY NigHT On tHE EDGe of An unWaNTEd ReturN to The CitADEl.

I remain peaking from under my furrowed brow, as a year which has proven rarely anything removed from appalling, has of late, amped up the vividness of horror. Familial warfare wears me down. Yet it was learning of the most beautiful soul I know and have felt close, in dire jeopardy, that sent me into the barrel above the well, machete in hand, and as i landed and curled, I cut the rope, began to hurtle down…my descent to my own abyss arrested by mega trauma with the hellhound, lower paws and claws spread to the walls of the well. clenched fists of synapses and beyond, hope placed in the gingerman, who got down to business, and returned to me a crestfallen yet much improvedĀ fang merchant…and then i let go of the walls. It has taken a day or so to recover. And I return to find myself, as I was, albeit more strident, the cork pushed down and finding the bottom of the bottle, and the release and ascent is vibrant.

Change has been required for many moons, as I frog march to my own mega phone. It appears that matters are being taken out my own hands, and the Change that is needed, is coming at me from Nature. As if the the Wind and the Tides have grown tired of offering me hints and now make the only choice possible; Force the Change by Force.

The Change pulls me towards lakes and trees, to sky and earth. to the real, to those with zeal…Part of me knows unwittingly where to find them. My biggest passion is for affairs I cannot influence. It must become for Me. For I have seen myself become something I despise. Not the drinking. That is another matter entirely. i mean the cringing good corporate citizen routine…There are hints in moments in which I have shown shades of those I despise, with my only saving grace, that I do so uneasily, expose to anyone of moderate perception, the obvious muddle which comes from a sleeper cell in my brain pushing me to even fleetingly becoming what my environment wants me to be, when my environment is cowardly slime merchants, who have decided that life is about earning the ever increasing lucre, step on who you have to, in order to expand your pile of gold, swagger or scurry, regardless, such pathetic human vermin I can but hope sometimes ponder, when they see something honest and pure, and its blossom, that is everything they are not, yet that is their idea of beauty, and they change…as I must in turn. At witnessing the horror I have uneasily, even fleetingly, shown myself to the world as.

 

 

 

 

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