This blog never had a reason or purpose.

I've come to realize I feel same to expose my broken self here. When I am faced with myself or the problems I hold inside I can come here and speak from the heart about it. I am the only one who hears my words. But slowly that is starting to change as each day more and more views seem to find their way here and that amazes me. For moment it made me rethink how I typed here. I think about my writing more, my use of profanity, my spelling and grammar. It was never about that before. Just type as fast and as passionate as possible and maybe one day when I'm famous I can pay someone to go back through all of this and spell check it for me.

I've worked myself into a messed up position because I feel like I'm trapped inside a cage between what I need myself to be and what I am being. I can write lists and listen to videos about how to structure and guide this change but I simply feel empty from time to time. No will or spirit to push me and my body feels useless, like it shouldn't be here it is. Almost like a magnetic repulsion I feel rejected by the very air I hold in vacuum by my physical body filling that space. I am allowed here, part of my existence warrants that. But yet I still feel like I don't belong. Like I am solar powered on a planet that has no sun. Where is the will and energy filling the air, filling me? The air I breathe is a stale air, the energy I spend is energy on reserve. Where it comes from I don't know, but I'm always a marker from empty yet I never totally run out. I'll run so low and keep on spending and there isn't a single good thing about it. It makes me feel like I am eternal but eternal in stress, not eternal in joy. What is a ever lasting life in that life is spent in confusion and restlessness.

I want these hands to craft what I know they can but they feel forced, my heart stands in the way and my eyes drop to the floor. Why must I become my own obstacle. What am I to myself? Why is this concept so confusing? Why can I not define myself? What am I? What is my place in all this? Am I here to create chaos? Solve problems? Spread love? Or to self serve and build for my own enjoyment and survival. The latter is the only I feel any connection with now. As each hand I have reached out has gotten bit. But I feel my debts grow up the help of family in supporting me. I despise this debt, I feel stained and ruined by it. I feel as though I can't act on my own regard when being held and houses by someone else. When their dollar becomes my blood, my blood is not my own.

I have to move from this place but to do that I must move these hands. These hands won't move when carried but such a heavy heart. I wish this weight was lifted, I want all these emotions that hold me back to go away and for the heaviness to be carried on my shoulder upon strong legs. Not holding this heart which should soar so very close to the ground. Trying to be out of sight and out of might. My wants and needs conflict with each other. The desire to be important, to sen messages and change lives. To speak without hesitation but to remain unnoticed so I can act without thought about judgement of my actions. Why do these opinions matter? After many men have had horrible actions and equally horrible character but have gotten much farther in life and seem to live much happier.

So many paths, I love to study the path. How they become, what they are. It's all very interesting to me because my own path makes no sense to me. It's where the math begins to cave in when I observe myself, my history so that I am see who I am, how I became who I am. The reasons I place seem like lies beneath the surface to explain things so I can hide from the real problem. Explain the surface to ignore the core. But I cannot see this core, I don't know if it exists. I don't know if anything exists. My efforts into it feel like I am being tricked or fooled. Or that all this life will come to an end where I am laughed at by ancient spirits. There is no place in the reality I hold in my mind where I can escape the unrelenting judgement of my peers.

I wish to see the body of my father. Such a strong, bold, violent and provocative thing to say but I feel no statement stronger. The effect his presence had on my forming was like cancer in my blood. How I feel ruined by such a mans guidance. How I feel less, how I feel I have no beliefe in myself because of this origin. Whilst I trace my path I find myself in front of him, this great destroyer, this irresponsible and morally dead man.

So much hate inside, wanting to let it all go but I feel how it tugs against the flesh of my soul. How it stings as it pulls. How I feel I loose just another slice of what I feel is real. How in my mind I hold my world at a touches distance. Where I can feel it all as though it were in my hands. All my senses come to the surface and my imagination uses them all to construct the images in my mind. So much more than images, memories. Smell, touch, taste, sound, and sight. But when I let go, when I choose to forget I loose a part of my ability to remember. With each memory I cast away it becomes harder to form new ones. Always with less detail or I can only remember them through certain senses.

I don't want to be this, how can I let go of my angers and still remain the man I am?

I think the answer is I cannot. I do not believe great men are men who forget who wronged them, men who forget why the world is wrong. Men who forget are men who are forgotten.