Evil

Evil exists, but evil comes from anger and fear, the absence of love and forgiveness. 

– Christopher Penczak

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How’s it going?

It’s been a week since this process began.  It’s been, well, rather easy.

My toughest day was today though.  I thought just wanting to forget would be enough to make me change my mind.  But today’s events, one for my history book.  I endured and triumphed.  Then collapsed and shutdown.  Only to rest though.  To just stop.

Not just metaphorically, to move on.  But actually.  When my experience went from mere frustration to outright anger, I cried.  I was sad that things are the way they are, this is often for me.  I feel so deeply, so strongly.  I want the world to be a better place.  I want humanity to realize its own hand in its suffering.  Why won’t they just wake up?  If they’d just realize this, most of what people endure, every     single     day, would be gone.  Mostly.  Not absolutely.  It could be far removed from what is thought of as ‘reality’ to most.

So, why don’t we?  I think it’s that we spend so much time trying to forget, that  we forget what it is that we are doing it for.  How did it start?  Why do we continue.?

Because no one thinks to just stop.  Stopping requires personal responsibility.  Taking ownership of not only our actions, but our choices.  Our desires, expectations.  Mostly our feelings.  That’s where I found my greatest hill to climb.  My Everest.  How dare these ‘feels’ get in the way of my productive life.  Ruining my bullet journal’s points of action and disrupting my path to victory.  ‘I’ll be happy then,’ they say.

But it hurts right now.  I know, I’m fully aware of it.

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Notes:

I find myself writing this late at night.  When I’m not able to stay asleep, usually after waking up in the night.  It’s not insomnia, but perhaps the energy of the globe that keeps me from slumber.  I write at this hour because I find I can do so without thought, or judgment from my own criticism.  Which I have more than plenty enough of.  As I reread this I see that I’m inspired by slam poetry in it’s flow.  I write with the desire to express something that’s precious to my soul in a way that doesn’t betray its message.  As such, I sincerely look for feedback on this.  I do not ‘want’ to be a writer, but have a family of them.  It seems like I’m the only one who didn’t inherit this gift.  That’s why I do it.  Because it’s not something I try very hard at, but can’t stop myself from doing.  I need it as I need every other form of expression that comes to me through inspiration.  I need it because someone else might actually see what I’m doing and find something in it that I cannot.   If you have the time to offer assistance in my prose, I appreciate what you can offer.  Please be gentle, as I’ve no training or educated knowledge, only desire and will to do so.  Thank you friend.  For taking the time to read and share with me.

And so it begins…

The first night of one year.  But why tonight?

Because it’s as ‘good a time as any’.  I kind of hate that phrase.  “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” is the other one.

It’s true though. I felt inspired in the bath tub.  Of course it was.  It’s likely that or the toilet.  Just as likely as the shower really.

I’m outta the game.  How’s this going to work?  I have no fucking idea.  I’m basically scared as shit.  Fuck, this means I won’t have excuses, reasons, a crutch.

I hate using crutches.  I know I need them sometimes.  Great knowing they don’t have to last.  Doesn’t make ’em any easier to let go of though.

I imagined a lot of cussing in this.  It’s becoming increasingly evident to me that my imagination/ mind has one of its very own.  Fantasizing the most amazing adventures of dysfunction and hyper vigilant self-criticism, which are implemented often.

Perhaps that’s why I write in weird abandoned paragraphs.  An attempt to give breaths to my bulldozing.  I’m trying really hard not to.  Really.

So, here it is, the thing I’ve been thinking about for… well, I guess weeks could work, but maybe it’s been months.  Perhaps a year?  But probably & more likely since I was 3 years old.

“I’ll never be like them”.  That’s another one I find sour to my senses.  A cliche.  But as I do this, I realize, I won’t.

 

*And a neither a word, nor whisper from my lips, will betray my efforts.