Revealing Nothing

So many years (how many years?... twenty online, twenty five more off line {remember paper and pen?), ten more years before that {starting with crayons}... you had to ask?) of writing, pouring myself into words with purpose within myself and beyond myself. It's all about love. Empowering it. I knew how once and I gave up the power because I was screwed up in the head. Messed up from birth, letting experiences of abandonment, insensitivity, and cruelty throughout childhood create a martyr mindset and that turned into a self-fulfilling prophesy. Self-sabotage destroyed every chance at personal love and something, shyness, insecurity, fear, undermined any chance of actualizing the love I sense inside and did actually actualize a time or few. Fool that I was, I let those moments and opportunities slip by.

So I come here now to record the dirt, drama, and details, the excess baggage and frivolous matters and irreverent perspectives and all inspired by the mundane experiences of this life. Mostly however, I distract myself from the failures and the stupidity and fears that lead to the failures. I did make a different in this world in some lives. For a few, a big difference. For many, a little, but important difference. As I walk slowly toward the end stages of this life, I reach much ore for distraction than for the quest for love that used to be the obsession motivating everything. Like Mulder's quest for truth, like Quixote's quest for something even nobler, my quest, however undermined by m own traumas (childhood PTSD is a bitch), was the purest of all. The infant's instinct for love as survival. So sad so many leave that far behind.

Suddenly, just as it all makes so much sense it clears the mind and clarifies a life, this rises from the depths of memories so rooted in the original dream (or my personal original sin, which has nothing to do with the religious crap spewed by power mad zealots jealous of (or just plain subservient to) kings and god-heads throughout the ages), and leads to this once lost original (second) web page from twenty years ago (and all that it leads to if you take the time to follow the paths) that could be even more revealing than anything you might read here because in spite of the heightened trauma of the time, the hope still shined brightly (unlike today) and the babbler beamed (with a little help from his friends) and the energy of the eternal infinity.

Just look at all the empty pages waiting for something, a resurrection of self, perhaps, or the one, if you recall that dream (and the distractions have as many empty pages as the potential actualization (which some might call magic and others call god and still others call evil because they fear it), but the blanks shot from mirrors and apathetic procrastination and this whole paragraph is a while goose chase to a me yet to be revealed which may seem pretty shitty, but it could be more revealing than the slices of life each entry pushes out.

Se for yourself (quite randomly) as I spent an afternoon with another old friend in memories (what used to lead to catharsis and clarity) in the written gardens from the beginning.

We can look at recent dailies for some sort of idea of what's going on, in case it matters to you. If you want a different approach, we can try reaching back to another era (we won't mention they were all written in the past month, m'ok?... cuz that might be too revealing, ya know?) when I was depending on friends for survival and remembering just how strange people can be. I don't think I've ever met anyone who does not lie to themselves, which makes it foolish (and even impossible) to trust anyone (or could it be the influence of watching 9 years of The X-Files or the madness of social suicide everyone seems to so actively participate in with little or no acknowledgement?). Whatever the answers, there was a major change at the time (one of several major life changes in the past few years and decades) and after all the blogging is done, the truth is nobody really cares (they simply don't know how) beyond their limited scope of perspective and knowledge so we all make mistakes as we make hard choices so foolishly to find any sort of new hope within the sheltered bubble of our existence.

This could continue through the past as we remember all the highs and lows from top to bottom, from better to worst, and still we can find joy even in the abuse if we learned from it, if we take the time to pause the distractions long enough to understand the secrets that the truth can reveal it we only greet it with the open mind we can achieve by simply being in touch with ourselves without lies or deception or fears (but who can do that, after all as nothing rises suddenly from the mundane simplicity of the daily life. What?

Did someone mention dirt, drama, and details?

There was a time when the focus could go on for days and five hundred pages could appear in less than twenty four hours (a few may recall receiving such letters, hand written, and we loved every minute of it... or so we thought). For the moment, I pause here because the TV distracts enough (it's season 9, after all, far from the est, but they are trying to wrap is up after all) and there is some hunger and there is discomfort from sitting too long in 84 degrees.

Life gets in the way a lot these days.

Narf :)