③ 05-26-09 I am not 100% sure that the following is true, but feel that it is a fairly well-educated guess:
I've already written “I am tuff. I can take it,” but feel an urge to elaborate on this due to your expressed concern for how such emotional assaults may effect me poorly. I could hazard a guess or an assumption I have about how much emotional scarring there is to the emotive Adam's (Nicolas'?) spirit must be why I now emote upon such a flat line, and can state my toughness to endure any assault. Scarring, scars, vents ripped open and regrown together; rents grown back together—pain vanquished, hurt dead. Love still flutters along, butterfly-like, severely weakened, but not completely dead yet.
Forced to endure & ignore my first three progeny and the absolute (sense of) loss. Resigned, to the acceptance that I had become retired from Francine's list of potential lovers . . . To walk away from the boat dream and the music dream, I don't think that I'll suffer too severely because I chose to discontinue yet another relationship that I had burnt a lot of LOVE ♥ on.
Loves lost is a common theme of literary effort. Throughout the ages, lovers have scribed their lament, but I feel no serious urge to apply my writing efforts lamenting, except only as to get free, past the point(s) of lamentable occurrence(s). Rather: I prefer the upsides and upbeat, uplifting, spirit-calming 'soul food;' warm-up type stuff; good golden rule graciousnesses that elicit only golden rule type responses.
The sense of affront, hurt, anguish, lament, all those kind of sorer emotions, are old acquaintances and easily sloughed off. If 'experience' hasn't 'taught' me why and how to bury them, it certainly has created my mindset thusly, in reaction, to where I feel that I can confidently state to the small world of folks I live amongst: “Go ahead. I'm tuff. I can take it,” eminently confident that I not only can but will! and with a calm friendly sort of smile-of-encouragement, as allowed.
Discouragement is not allowable. I will flee from its desiring clutches rather than stand and fight like a man because this sort of exhortation is no longer valid in (urban) 2009. I have never been a fighter—except as in how I attack performing as an entertainer—and am alive today because I ran: really and figuratively. I am still running away from troublesomeness and the cruelties of ignorance—of the ignorant, thoroughly-retarded slave class—and their sheeple underlings' insensitivity to the spirit of all of the spirits involved. One purpose-to-life (our human life) could be: No to bicker, overly. I agree with that, 4-square. What else? Hmm . . .
I am going to stay centered, neutral, in equilibrium, in the middle, while the satellites
④ of my offspring describe their asymmetrical orbits in the vicinity. I would use a black hole analogy here, but I'm not so sure that I want to function as forcefully as a magnet. I am more in the mode of the equal-and-opposing force; the pole that repulses the other pole and thereby renders (?) some neutral space wherein the opposing forces are each canceling each other out, leaving some sort of a semblance (I think) of a sensation of CALM. I've served my time to be radically orbiting, pushing on everybody and everything. Some of it worked; more of it didn't. I have long accepted these facts and learned to live comfortably enough with their dourer aspects. Low class appellations do not faze me; they have little bearing upon my sense of accomplishment—that certainly was in so-called lesser-class strata, 'below' (ha!) the (ideas of) class that I was (attempted-to-be) raised into.
Class, to me, implies: quality-of-work performed. Do you do a classy job, or do you suck? We all, in our hearts' desires, want to perform/ accomplish commendable achievement. How we chose to attempt to pursue these goals is where a lot of hiccups can get to hiccuping, eyes crossed and tees dotted, and cages rattled, and two-steps-back for every one forward can start habitually happening, and so on.
What's all your referring to me “re-inventing wheels” supposed to mean? I am missing getting the point/ the message you must have been trying to imply by the use of that phrase. As far as I (feel that I) sense what/ who myself is experiencing daily, is all new fresh territory. You surely must remember all my references to a disgust I feel when having to endure exposure to what I 'see' as reruns. I hunger, I lust for NEW experience. Very little nostalgic weakness resides in my basic self. I ridicule all the idiotic waste of time (and money) that is encouraged by wannabe-capitalists' pathetic appeals to the public's sense-of-nostalgia for fads from the past. I am a forwardist.
I wrote forty years ago as a 28 year old songwriting/ singing, guitar-playing fool:
“Oh timekeepers: you're wasting your time.
Trouble us not now with what is behind;
for when you look from your world out into mine,
the distance but a few moments, fast-foggied by time.
You've got to hold me long and love so warm
if you're ever gonna make me stop singing mah song” . . . yeah . . . oh yeah.”
In its essence, it's saying: what's with all this nostalgia business, anyway?
Get the lead out . . .
Uh-huh. Okay. Tha's righ-ee-t. OO – POO – PA - DOO!
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