combat!

here

Home by myself on a Friday night. By choice. A bit of solitude after a stupid week at work. I care so little that it makes me care about everything else even more. Maybe that's a good thing? Vodka siphoned into my bloodstream. Synthetic supplement. Lit up. A night of isolation does my soul some good, I think. Only distracted by the music here. Peter Murphy with "Cuts You Up" plays - a dolorous piece that puts me into a reflective place with that close-mouthed smile of mirth and memory on my face.

Rhythm and rhyme. Some of the time I feel like I am out of time. Balanced on the precipice I chose, nudged to the edge by circumstance of the path I've chosen. I look down, out, and about, and I feel as if I can see everything from within the confinement of these walls. I know everything, but know nothing. That's the paradox. Sing to myself, talk to myself, jot my words down on a scrap of paper. Never mistake weirdness for insanity. I am fragmented and I am whole.

What comes next? Oh, the anticipation of chance. There is nothing like being in the moment. Whatever that moment brings or means has its own impact. And there is an emotional edification [of any sort] just to be there, to know it, to experience it, to remember it. For better. For worse. But often for better in the end.

We are matter. We are here and we seem to exist in whatever this is, and then we are gone and our matter decays. But I truly believe the spirit lives on.

You're reading this right now. You might wonder why. But you already know.