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Still Not My Day: Chaos

I went in with all of my new revelations and still am losing against the bow, or myself, but I’m not sure exactly what that means.

New revelation: I didn’t wait long enough to let my hand heal. I felt a tiny fragment of success, but my hand wore away and began to tear. I didn’t take it to the point that I have before, so I’m glad I stopped when I did. I’m going to wait longer now, and see if it’s not just about waiting long enough for the hand to heal and starting afresh.

So now, I’m going to go ponder more about failure and perserverence, and wait for my next day to hold the bow again.

Below is the piece I wrote the other night, maybe it has some relevance.

 
 

It’s so often we forget the demons … that beast.

There is a chaos that moves our bodies and minds and spirits that disgusts form. It says “NO” and moves according to it’s own tribe. Inside of there is a voice that belongs only to that particular dying shell, with echoes that will never be forgotten in the bearer’s ears.

It spits and curses and pisses and screams.

It may just sit.

But in that it doesn’t care.

That chaos will eat all of the form. That form may be utterly destroyed and used at the same time.

Abused. Utilized.

There is a sword, you pick it up and swing.

Kill or be killed, or just die.

Or live forever in the fire.

Have you ever been to the woods? Alone?

There alone, in those woods, a lone child can play. They can find old houses and rotten stumps, bugs that sting and birds that fly. There in that lone time, lonliness and embarrassment do not exist. They can go to the woods. We can go to the woods.

Have you ever been to the woods?

 
 

I promise there won’t be any wolves. Your friends have killed them all. The TVs killed them all, your friends, I mean.

There is none but the beast and the world, all the other minions, and that beautiful scene as one.

Slaves to form: Don’t forget the beast, and the world that will utterly consume you. Hungry bloody beautiful jaws,

No one gets out alive.

P.S.

It’s OK though, you don’t have to die.

You can cry if you like.

Or laugh.

But when you look at the rain, alone there behind the glass, what do you see?

You can cry if you like.

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