Member Rara Avis
I know you don't like the truth --
it's one of those ugly unpleasantries that collapses facades like so many bricks thrown by a wrecking ball's trajectory.
I never expected an answer, so I was surprised --
yes I will admit I was surprised -- to have you peek your head into the doorway and say hi before you left, dry witticisms peppering you like elephant dung on a painting of the only virgin left in these states.
Mixed signals. I hit the TV and the radio (sometimes they trade voices and swap ideas), but nothing really works, of course. You just have to give in, then.
I still like to think I'm on course, headed for somewhere other than self-destruction, martyrdom or parody. I believe I am on the right path, though my feet are bleeding from the cutting stones on the walk.
You can follow my trail, look at the color and spats of blood for their beauty or their morbidity. You can clutch your idea of god to you like it's the sponge that will wipe us clean -- like you're absolved of all your mistakes just for your double doubting belief.
I will be here, with my own version of faith and the unique friction that causes. These words are gauze and they are a mirror as much as a sword.
You can read into this, or ignore me again. I don't need you, to stand.