Snake Oil Salesman

Sometimes I crap on as If I'm some kind of guru. 

I go back over old stuff and read it- & I see this. 

Maybe I'm being too hard on myself- but I don't think so. 

My bullshit detector is sharp, and I'm always on the lookout for it. 

At home...and away. 

That's fair- don't you think?

Sometimes I speak of 'letting go' as if I'm some kind of fucking expert.

But I think I ought to tell you...

Every day I struggle with my base self.

Every goddamn day- every second of the day...

Listen to this; only five minutes ago, I almost said something unkind to someone.

It came from a hateful, spiteful self satisfied egotistical holier than thou kind of place.

Not at all from a loving, gentle, kind place.

I had to bite the tongue in my head before I spat the poison out.

Who cares where it came from; faulty parenting or the formaldehyde in my lager. 

It comes up...a little more often than I like.

And I have to be on my guard, all the time- so it doesn't get out. 

Like a basket full of snakes- & I really STRUGGLE to control them. 

It's just habit; I guess I can set the basket down...but I have been carrying them for so long...

I actually have myself convinced it is preferable to carrying nothing at all.

Until I set the basket down...I can never hope to love.

And love- like Latin- is a dying language
 
Part of that struggle- what helps me- is this blog.

This blog is pretty much exactly as I intended it to be- right from the very start.

A kind of diary, filled with messages, observations lessons for ME.

It's written like it's for everyone...

(Actually I'm not sure why that is.) 

Maybe because...I figured if I wrote it like I was aiming it at everyone else...

It would seem like it came from someone who knew what they were talking about.

Instead of me. 

Because most of this stuff is NOT what I do...

But what I aspire to do. 

And be. 

Every day.

I WRITE DOWN the man I want to be...

So that one day...it will stick.

So when I say 'let go'...

I'm mainly talking to me.

And it's no picnic. 

Negativity plagues me.

I cannot sleep lately; I'm not sure what the problem is.

But I can tell you this...those negative thoughts slither in like bad company.

And I spend the night trying to fight them, block them, cuddle them...

Yes, even make friends with them...

Until I don't know what to do.

And then, when I get too tired for words...

I pass out. 

I try to let love in...

But it 'aint that easy.

It takes time.

I think I miss the PHYSICAL side of love.

I cuddle a teddy.

Yes...A TEDDY.

Like I did when I was a boy.

It's OK...but I miss having a person, flesh and blood to cuddle.

If you don't cuddle someone occasionally...

You wither up and die.

The boffins have proven this- somehow.

The irony is...until the snakes are all gone....

Love will be too frightened to take residence.

& I don't blame her.

So what do I do?

I keep this blog.

There it is.

I might sound like I know what I'm talking about...

But I write like a person being chased by things that want to take a bite outta' my arse.

Because they do.

One day...

It'll all come together.

Or so Teddy tells me...

 

Intercourse With The Dead.

Broken promises... 

Words so full of possibility, without substance...they break over time in little increments.

Our bones, the brittle child-like sense of expectation, that finally snap with the realisation...

Twas all for naught.

the bitter memory we carry of the casual, careless utterances that sail triumphantly from the mouths of fools- flawed vessels on waves of empty passion that break on the shores of our vulnerability.

Like compound fractures- we can carry them around like nonsense memory.

The dull ache of the pain of a lost hope...

we carry around with us...

Words that once seemed like a new born infant, stagger on like zombies eternally, kept alive by our child like belief in them.

They can stunt our growth, and we walk eternal with the limp of bitter disappointment.

In time, if we hold onto these fractures long enough, we become conversant ourselves in the art of the broken promise. 

And others limbs we break in turn.

A world of staggering disability & disbelief.

We need to be so very careful that the language of the fractured expectation is not the only language we become conversant with. 

There are many languages out there.

Lies are one.  Truth another. 

Faith, peace and hope.

And if we must hold onto the bitter pain of the broken promise- & many among us MUST- then we would do well to ensure we do not break the most important promises of all. 

The ones we make with ourself.

To attempt to keep a promise with another without doing it for oneself- like trying to love another without first having self love- is like having intercourse with the dead.

Without their consent.  

Perverse.