Don’t say it, and I wish it was something like “Cowabunga.” My Olds spent much of my life telling me not to talk, and when I grew up making me speak, but I didn’t want to sound like them. I want my words to choose me. Your Words Must Pick Sides.
Monday, April 13, 2020
Log 287 ~Your Words Must Pick Sides~
Hundred And Thirty-Second Rule
I AM a Billionaire right now because my words chose me here and now. At least I wish because they didn’t last night; two hundred words for, The Eve of a Cherry. What was I talking about last night? Yes, my tongue remained silent as I was ripped apart by the world. It reminds me of something I’ve heard from the Bible. The sins of the fathers will be visited upon the children or something like that. I’m still not a Christian man, but I am the son of one. My “Father’s” words became the world’s words, and then my own Madam Justice.
“The mistakes of our fathers make us fight our brothers.”
Again, left off from yesterday, I pick the worst words hoping once written down, they’ll take mine. The things I say to hurt myself. I remember the book Sick Fux by Tillie Cole. Evil words Rabbit and Dolly used to pleasure themselves in bed together. They were the words of those who ravished them. Madam Justice, I again practice gratitude that I never knew such horrors. Still, when one knows a monster’s pain, how dare anyone ask me to rise above. Right there, why do I immediately fall from Man to Monster? I had one of those and a good Mother, and so I became ME. I’m always trying to define myself. These words, Madam Justice, they have power, I know. So what am I doing with such force when I’m not destroying myself daily?
I wish I spoke with more kindness and love when it comes to My Dæmon. Every morning I begin with one word, “NO.” At this rate, I should consider SLEEP a holy writ for myself. Of course, neither of those words help me in the slightest. Who else do I speak to nowadays? Marianne Engel from The Gargoyle had the stone, and I have the screen, but I understand her shackles. The great labors to form her grotesques. Here I haven’t even begun my work, too busy talking to you. That’s not a dig, it was only a decision when I needed to get out of bed. If anything, I want to believe in my words. To have that freedom, but they are sitting in limbo as the song goes. Haven’t I shown on more than one occasion my willingness to destroy them, quickly enough?
Misguided, misanthropic, and missing to become decided, disgusted, and discarded. Your Words Must Pick Sides.
“The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth” – African proverb.
I Will Have No Fear